


And She Did Become Him

by Niedosytnix



Series: Ma'revas'an: Revas'enaste [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: After the veil fell, Anxiety, Break Up, Cooking with Abelas, Descent into Madness, Diary/Journal, Dread wolf Vallaslin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Worldbuilding, Explicit Language, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Last Flight references, Lavellan failed, Mostly in the first few chapters, Post Trespasser, Post-Canon, Probably won't be explicit, Protective Abelas, Spirits, just a warning, non-graphic references to sex, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niedosytnix/pseuds/Niedosytnix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[10/15/16: Shelved for the time being for either edits or recycling or deletion.]</p><p>Journal entries for the first few chapters.<br/>Spoilers for my main fic because I'm ridiculous and can't stop posting fics that take place after it.</p><p>AKA cooking with Abelas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ruins of Antiva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Journal chapters will probably be shorter. This probably won't be too long a fic, _maybe_ 30k words. It's kind of a side fic as is.
> 
> My original attempt at 'Lavellan failed', it was going to be dark, but then it got unexpectedly light. 
> 
> Mostly character plot, not a whole lot of saving the world plot.

**1:2 Veilfall – (A year after the fall of the veil) – Ruins of Antiva city – Winter**

The world without the veil is an incredibly interesting place. Spirits as much a part of it as the trees, the air, what people remain. Magic is as effortless as breathing, well, as effortless as breathing would be if you didn’t carry the weight of your immense failures in your chest. Thousands upon thousands. That is my death count. Dwarves, Humans, Qunari, even some Elves did not make it. In exchange for all that blood the Elvhen have thrived, reclaiming their immortality, their superiority. Even quick elves such as I are no longer touched by time it seems, or at least those are the rumors I’ve heard. They raise up magnificent cities in their reclaimed lands. The world no longer fixed in its physicality, bends to their will. Intents shape the way of things now. 

So yes, the world is an incredibly interesting place, but there is no place in it for me. 

All because I could not stop the wolf. The Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel, Solas, ma vhenan, my bond mate, my reluctant enemy. Many are his names, and many are mine. My only name that matters is Revas. Yet for all the freedom self-imposed exile affords, it doesn’t mean much when you’re still bound to your lover. Or when you still wear his vallaslin. Or when he’s still kinda your enemy, or at least his people think you are. That’s right, _HIS_ people. I’m not going back Compassion.

What can I say? This isn’t making me feel better. Why am I even writing this? I know I know, a spirit told me to. In fact it’s still telling me to, it’s sitting right there. Oh that doesn’t make me seem less crazy, why did I write that? I could have just wrote that I haven’t held a conversation with a living person in over a year. Oh, ok it’s moved on. I don’t know why Compassion bothers. 

Note to self: try and figure out what his people are using as a calendar. I’m pretty certain I made that up. I’m almost finished with the next volume of the Dirth’enansal Vir’abelasan and I need a legitimate date if I’m going to leave it where _He_ will find it.

PS: try to think of a better title for the written wisdom of the Vir’abelasan. 

PPS: The following sketch is of the second apparently poisonous fruit I’ve found in this creator’s forsaken desert. That’s what I get for wintering over in a city that was run by assassins.  
DO NOT EAT. _Again_ …

Well, maybe if I cook it?

 

**1:2 Veilfall - Ruins of Antiva City – Winter**

The city is still beautiful in its disrepair. The shocked white stones are slowly being taken over by the ridiculous amount of poisonous herbs and malicious fruit trees, trees that are spreading throughout the many tiered gardens at a faster rate than would be normally possible. Does the magic that now permeates everything contribute to their wild growth? Too bad Wisdom is in short supply these days. I have so many questions ~~no one~~ _someone_ could answer yet I’m not going to _him_. The city is eerily quiet. It's to be expected I guess. Who knew I'd one day be the Queen of Antiva? Well not a feat I suppose considering I'm the only person here. Plenty of spirits though, not the best place to winter over. Too much Deceit, Cunning, Despair and Desire linger here. 

By the way cooking poisonous fruit is actually worse than eating it raw. Need to remember that. Probably shouldn’t make a habit of listening to Deceit while I’m at it. 

I _should_ probably write more about my feelings in this. That's what Despair told me. I'll admit after that encounter I don't feel like much at all. Perhaps I'll go sit by the waterfront again. Happier spirits seem to still linger by the old taverns there. Though the water is so blue it's almost unsettling. I guess I could use a bath. Waterfront it is. 

Note to self: the book shop on the main thoroughfare has plenty of blank journals. I hid and cast spells of preservation on as many as I could. I may have to come back for them later if I run out. 

I'm on volume 12 of the Dirth'enansal Vir'abelasan and there's no telling how many I'll have to write to pass on the wisdom. I can't keep it to myself, even if I won't share it in person. Maybe that’s the only reason _he_ wants me back. Maybe he just wants less knowledge lost. Well he can have it. He doesn’t need me to be there for it.

 

**1:2 Veilfall - Ruins of Antiva City - Winter I think**

It's always warm here, yet I think it's been getting warmer? I'll have to leave the city soon. I've finished two more volumes of the Vir'abelasan, total of 14, and I still don't have my answer on the calendar. The spirits here don't know. That means I'll have to try to sneak close to a settlement near the Arlathan forest. It's not going to be a safe trip I think it’s mostly open desert up that way. There was a blight here once, the fourth I think. I wonder if Antiva was always a desert or if the land just never really recovered. I’ll have to spend some time preparing. Maybe Fen'Harel will be too busy to come after me this time. Perhaps I can sneak into an eluvian there. I've lingered here too long as is.

Speaking of preparing, a spirit of Resourcefulness took a liking to me. Showed me how to cast a spell to tell if something is poisonous or not. That will come in handy. It also showed me a memory of how Antivans dealt with sandstorms. I'll have to go raid an armory tomorrow, there's been a lot of haze on the horizon and I don't want to be caught out in one unprepared while I travel.

A spirit of Cunning sparred with me. It won hands down but that's beside the point. It showed me a new fighting style I think I can integrate into the dirth'ena enasalin. His people would probably despise me for corrupting the style of the arcane warrior with what was probably the knowledge of an Antivan crow but I don't particularly care. I'm not only the last bearer of the collective wisdom of Mythal's priests, I'm apparently also the last bearer of things the world won't care to remember. I should write more of them down.

Ah but I should write about bad things too right? I got into a nasty encounter with spirits of Regret and Desire. It... Brought up a lot of painful memories, and uh some very intimate ones that I will _not_ write about here. Although, I will say Desire did not want to let me go, I may have um, _supplicated_ it for the return of my freedom. The form she tried to take at first was NOT appreciated, yet we came to an understanding nonetheless. 

It's… really all my fault isn't it? They trusted me to change the wolf's heart and I failed. Their deaths aren't on his shoulders, they're on mine. I was their best chance, yet I couldn't kill him and I was the only one who could get close enough to do it. There's nothing I can do to bring them back, well besides time travel I guess, but Dorian is long gone with the rest of them. He would know. There might be answers in Tevinter, but the rumors I've heard of Minrathous are worse than what I heard of Kirkwall. Going there would probably destroy me. Yet do I deserve any less?

No, probably not. Yet the wisdom of the Vir'Abelasan can't be lost with me. I have time now, perhaps I can plan for when I finish writing it all down. Perhaps I can change things, or die in the attempt.

I fled. Ran. Cowered. Fen’Harel warned me the veil would fall, he stood across from me in the same room, his gaze cold, demeanor bordering on clinical. Yet, he told me to take myself as far from Skyhold as I could. I don't know why I listened instead of slashing his throat. Perhaps I was afraid he would finally be the end of me. Would he have killed me? I don't know. I should have let him.

I've yet to stop running though. Creators I miss Sera. Hah she’d make fun of me for that statement. She'd also be here in exile with me. She'd have a plan. But no... that's my fault too. No, I can't relive that. I'm done.

 

 **1:2 Veilfall – Ruins of Antiva City – Spring?**

I can’t linger here longer. There’s a statue by the waterfront I must have passed a dozen times without sparing a thought. It was old, worn. It caught my eye today, I ran a hand over it to read the inscription. What happened next was surreal. I was surrounded by darkspawn, an Archdemon circled overhead underneath roiling dark clouds. People- Humans, Elves were cut down in the streets. Darkness crowded in, I thought I was going to suffocate. 

Then I fell over, my hand breaking contact with the statue. A mouthful of sand was worth being back in the present. It had been a memory.

It had been _terrifying_. I can practically hear it whispering all the way up here in the palace. Thankfully I leave tomorrow. I think I’ve prepared enough to cross the Drylands.

Note to self: start wearing gloves, all the time. Don’t need weird memory repeats. 

Good riddance poisonous fruit capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I illustrate this?  
> Why I do believe I can.
> 
> Pictures will probably be small, I'm formatting this for mobile. 
> 
> PS sorry for the shite spirit names. I'm just gonna keep making stuff up as I go.


	2. Edge of Arlathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairings in this chapter Fenris/Hawke, Merrill/Isabella, Dorian/Iron Bull. Didn't tag cause I didn't want to get people's hopes up. 
> 
> This is the chapter the entire fic is warned for. ie. even my fluff starts out dark. Sorry.

**1:2 Veilfall – Drylands – There are no seasons only dust**

Yup. There it is, giant cloud of dust speeding at me. No real shelter to be seen. I have maybe an hour. I could walk onwards, or I could give up for the night. Weird dead tree is as good a shelter as any right? I should eat. Not a lot of spirits out here, maybe there’s weather magic? Barrier will have to do.

PS: Travelling through blight lands, even old blight lands, is unsettling. I expect more nightmares tonight.

 

 

**1:2 Veilfall – Drylands – Spring probably**

The storm receded. I was right about the nightmares. Maybe writing will help. I can’t get it out of my mind.

I dreamt of the day the veil fell. The worst day of my wretched life.

Now, you need to understand. My entire life has been a series of escalatingly worse days. I once thought being branded for Fen'Harel, being exiled from my clan as an offering to him was the worst day. Next, I was the only one who survived the conclave, and immediately blamed for it. After that I was transported to a bleak future in which everything was growing red lyrium, the breach consumed the sky and probably most everyone died- did die. I watched my former lover die for me that day. The void it ripped in me was unendurable. Yet it doesn't stop there. Haven was attacked and I almost died. Oh and that time I went physically into the fade, had to live out my worst nightmares, had to leave Loghain behind. The fact that I came out of it all completely convinced I was still trapped there too, let's just say it set a whole new scale of bad days.

It was barely topped by my former lover leaving me. That perhaps would have been considered a normal Tuesday if not for the fact he tried to take my vallaslin, his markings by force. Yeah, that hurt. It didn't help he remained at Skyhold, his constant presence needling at my heart. Oh and he left as soon as Corypheus was defeated with barely a word. I only saw him again when he took my left arm, disappearing into an eluvian, locking it behind him. Neither of us knew then that his markings allowed me to open eluvians at will. How different would things have been? I’ll admit I didn’t even try, I had opened eluvians before. I should have made the connection.

No. The worst day in my void damned divine bad luck was the day I watched my friends die before my eyes. Knowing I could have stopped it. Dorian, Iron Bull, Varric, Hawke, Fenris, Merrill, Isabella.

Sera.

They had taken refuge in Kirkwall. The Tevinter Imperium was largely ravaged at that point by Fen'Harel's forces. Varric opened Kirkwall as a refuge for anyone displaced by the war.

He took one look at my face when I showed up, and he knew I'd failed. "Shit" was all he said. He didn't need to ask when. The Hanged Man was packed yet eerily quiet. We all got shitfaced before our inebriation allowed for mirth. Stories flew, desperate recollections, the couples taking unabashed liberties regardless of onlookers. I remember every detail, from the desperation that Fenris kissed Hawke, to the quiet sobbing that came from Merrill as she clung to Isabella for dear life. The small vial that fell to the floor, its contents empty. The tiny scratch from a dagger on Merrill’s arm. The coins that fell from Varric's purse, his head in his hands, the creased bit of parchment bearing the portrait of a woman. The look Dorian gave Bull as they stood to find a mostly unoccupied room. The sound the veil made as it came crashing down. An unimaginably loud roar that was felt as much as heard yet it didn't destroy. Not in the traditional sense. It vaporized. Not structures, but people.

They all turned to me in unison. The last desperation of my movements as I cast spell after spell. Barriers woven upon barriers, wards so complex I’m certain they’re still there to this day, everything I could think of. Draining my mana nearly completely as their horror rose. It wouldn't be enough. I cast sleep on the entire bar. It was all I could do.

I lost consciousness.

When I came to the memory of the last moments played over and over trapped within my spells. I watched for days, wallowing in my grief. Shades of my friends. That's how I learned how Merrill didn't survive. Poisoned by her lover, they'd already accepted death. That’s how I learned the dissonance the veil created ignited the lyrium branded into Fenris.

That's how I learned how Sera died.

She came to, before I did. Driven mad by what the world now was. I found her body tucked away under a table. ~~A small dagger, nearly hidden in her chest.~~

No. No NO NO NO. Compassion _where are you_?! THIS IS NOT HELPING.

Creators, what have I done?!

 

**1:2 Veilfall - Edge of Arlathan Forest – Spring (Cloudreach)**

The trip through the Drylands was considerably rougher than I expected. I’m just going to keep writing until I fill out this page. I’m going to pretend my last entry isn’t there. I’ll admit I nearly tore it out and set it on fire. Yet, I can’t. That small act of ‘Fuck you Fate’ won’t take back what happened. And if I die someone needs to know. This journal has every spell of protection I could think of, it should endure, should I not.

Though you should know, Compassion did not find me. I don’t know what I expected. It would have been a comfort I didn’t deserve.

I'm glad I prepared. Two dust storms struck while I travelled, and it made it impossible to hunt for game. I am _really_ thankful to that spirit for the spell. It enabled me to ration out plenty of dried _non-poisonous_ fruit to get me by. The face mask was just as vital. I took a bow from the armory before I left, I still feel bad about it even though it belongs to no one now. It's beautifully wrought, perhaps it'll help me remember.

OH right, calendar! His people have reverted to the Founding of Arlathan which means according to the letters I intercepted it's apparently 8450 FA. Screw that nonsense. I'm keeping my new calendar and they can suck it. Although I probably should have gone with 9:51 dragon... yet the falling of the veil seems to trump the awakening of dragons. Plus I'm probably the only one who gives a damn about it. 1:2 Veilfall it is. It’s also definitely Spring. According to the letters it appears to be 20 days into the fourth month. The name they used is unfamiliar to me, so I guess I might as well use Ferelden’s calendar- well that is if I can even keep track out here. It’s not like I can keep stealing letters if I lose track of time. Well, I guess I _could_.

I’m going to spend a few days on the edge of this massive forest planning my escape. I’ve settled into a stretch that doesn’t seem to have much traffic. The trees here are massive! I’m hiding at the top of one right now. I could probably live up here and no one would know. Well almost no one.

Note to self: Avoid spirits of Curiosity, yet try to do it without them realizing you’re deliberately avoiding them. Too many questions, it was like having a two year old follow me around. I definitely do not need _that_. No, definitely not any variation of that. Please stop asking me questions. Annnd now it’s going through my pack. Shit.

Why can’t I be bothered by spirits of quiet contemplation? Spirits of _mind-your-own-damn-business?_ Hell I’d even take another tumble with Desire over _this_.

 

 

 

**1:2 Veilfall – Edge of New Arlathan - Spring (Cloudreach)**

Fen'Harel feels far away, though it's difficult to discern exactly how far. I still haven't quite figured out how to pinpoint him through our bond as easily as he seems to find me. Or at least tries to. This is going to be dangerous. This _New_ Arlathan is sure to have several eluvians, yet I don't know where any of them lead. His markings, grant me passage. I don't think I've yet found an eluvian I couldn't open... Well except the one he put between us. Though if I raise the alarm, if they know who I am... Well, they'll know how to find him, and then he'll know to find me.

How do I describe bonding? Well, I guess our bond isn't unusual now. But before the fall of the veil bonding wasn't really anything but a vow between two people. Just a promise. He was different. There was a latent connection between us because I wore his vallaslin, the bonding tore that connection wide open. I could feel his intent, his emotions, and he could feel mine. It was comforting at the time. It was like I was never alone, no matter how much I felt isolated for being worshiped as the herald of Andraste. Little did they know, I was actually Fen'Harel's herald. It's not comforting now. There's too much pain in both of us. Too much hurt.

I haven't been pulled into his dreams in a while, although I should prepare for the possibility that it will happen if I succeed. It's very apparent when he goes through eluvians, it tugs the bond erratically as he steps out in different places. I have no doubt should I succeed he will know, and he may seek me out. At least it will allow me to drop off the journals where he'll find them.

Why though, why does he chase me? Maybe I'll learn something about the state of his empire as I make my escape. Though probably not, I'll need haste. These unbound emotions are a curse. I don't understand why he thought they were so great. So worth changing the world for. Sentiments flying about in the air, buzzing uncomfortably making all your business known to strangers. I can't hide long among elves. They're so happy, content. I am, well I am far from it and it makes me stand out. Well not that the vallaslin does me any favors, yet neither does hiding my face and covering up every inch of my skin like some sort of thief.

Are there spirits of luck?  No scratch that, I can't handle any more luck.  I'll make this work on my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't I ever just write something nice?  
> No. The answer to that is no.
> 
> It's almost embarrassing how bad I am at color. I mean... how bad Revas is at color. shit.


	3. Tour of Ferelden

**1:2 Veilfall - Hinterlands – Summer**

Where in the void do I start?! That was a _REALLY_ bad idea. I'm also potentially still running for my life, so I might not be able to stay here long. Wherever here is. I think I'm near Redcliffe, yet I can't go there. Too much hate festering in that place. Then again where isn't it festering out here.

Right. New Arlathan. I snuck in under the cover of night, which in hindsight was probably not as good of an idea as I thought. I would have blended in better had I tried to lose my emotions in the buzz of a crowd. On the empty streets though, the guards were alerted almost immediately. I should have abandoned my plan then. Yet I have been told I have a problem with stubbornness. I pushed onward through the city, my only saving grace was that they didn't know who I was.

Well, they soon discovered that. I took a wrong turn and was trapped in an alleyway. They must have recognized me. Several guards peeled off to alert him. Leaving only two guarding the alley. I'm not sorry to say they will be sore for weeks after what I did to them. I don’t handle being trapped well.

Though their companions led me straight to the central eluvian chamber, of course that meant they reached the eluvians before I did. I stepped through the first one I came upon, not the one they went through. It opened up into some unfamiliar between space. Yet I couldn't linger, I could feel hints of his emotions in our bond once more. He was closer. He was anxious, excited, determined. He was heading straight for me.

I ran for what felt like hours. Eluvian after eluvian, occasionally I came out in a large city only to dash to the next one I could find nearby.

The last put me in Halamshiral.

Shit. He's getting close. I've gotta run.

 

**1:2 Veilfall - Ruins of Denerim – Autumn**

I should have stood outside Skyhold and begged the sky to kill me. I'm sure he would have brought down the veil whether I was there or not. Perhaps I would have peace in death, true freedom from my burdens. I can even begin to describe how long I’ve been running. It would have been less if I’d realized sooner, you can’t shake a pursuer who can feel where you are. 

Where did I leave off? Halamshiral- right. Worst creators damned city to come out in, but the eluvian I came out of was by itself. I had to leave on foot. It's built like a fortress these days. They're building walls around almost the entire Dales by the looks of it, why does a free empire, free from even their vallaslin need walls? I don't know. I hope I never find out.

I managed to drop off all the journals in the eluvian chamber, before I fled the city.

The whole ordeal after that is a blur of grasping hands, spells flying, screams and guards. I don't remember exactly what happened but I managed to get out of the city despite the forewarning the guards clearly had. I was forced into my wolf form at some point to outrun them. I may have also bit someone who tried to grab me.

I had maybe an hour’s head start outside the city proper when I felt him, Fen'Harel step out of an eluvian in the heart of the city. It was the closest I had felt him since he had warned me to run. Well now he wanted me to stop running. Now I knew why he was so intent on catching me.

Rumor has it he wants me by his side. That he wants me to be his queen. Rumor also has it that he bears the essence of Mythal, he can be his own damn queen for all I care.

By the way, Denerim is incredibly unpleasant. A lot of hate and despair here, some varieties of fear and rage. It may be why I haven't been pursued this far.

He personally chased me across the Frostbacks, down around Lake Calenhad and up almost to the Brecilian forest. There must be an eluvian somewhere near the outskirts. He seldom disappeared for long during the chase. Maybe a few hours at a time. Not long enough for me to want to linger. Though I now have the rough location of a handful of eluvians to avoid. I managed to get two full days of a head start after he stopped chasing me outside that forest before I finally crashed. I slept for an entire day. Yet when I woke, I realized he'd picked up the chase again. He didn't stop until it was clear I was heading here.

Fort Drakon might be why, now that I think about it. I might be losing it but I'm pretty certain the tower is oozing. There's a shifting black mass continually sliding down the stones. I'm not going anywhere near that.

I am so incredibly tired. Angry, hurt. This city makes sense to me, that probably doesn’t bode well. A spirit of Rage gave me a tour, or perhaps I'm delirious. I'm going to sleep in the old tavern and hope I don't die. Or get captured. I asked Rage if it would defend me from my enemies while I slept. It said it wasn't in its nature. 

It was worth a try.

 

**1:2 Veilfall – Ruins of Denerim – Autumn**

I am still alive, and I haven’t been captured. Well not in any physical sense.

I was pulled into one of his dreams. Fen’Harel was waiting for me it seems. He finally told me himself that there was a place for me in his empire. By his side no less. He didn’t beg, but he did ask. He didn’t apologize, but he did say there was much I could do for the people. Though he said “our” people. They are _NOT_ my people. I told him such. It hurt him. His hurt, hurt me. It led me to a temporary lapse in judgement. I shouldn’t even write this here but I fucked him. It was a desperate bruising dance. It wasn’t gentle. It felt… oh Creators it felt amazing. Though it left me wanting when I woke, perhaps that’s part of his plan. 

I can’t help but feel like I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross. I fear my dreams of him from now on will regularly contain such bruising steps. I don’t know if I can endure that mockery of what we once had. It certainly won’t help keep my resolve. Maybe I can try to shut him out.

Note to self: Denerim is not a good place to stay for long. Everything here is decaying at a far faster rate than anywhere else I’ve been. Even the books in the shop I found are already succumbing. There’s a whispering on the edge of hearing. It gets louder when the wind blows from the direction of Fort Drakon.

I need to leave. 

 

**1:3 Veilfall - Highever – Winter (Guardian)**

Compassion found me again and encouraged me to write in this once more. I don't know what good it will do but serve as a sad account of my life and my mistakes. The spirit seems to think it worthwhile.

Though he’s thoroughly ~~disappouinbted disapo~~ angry with me. I may have found an untouched thing, of… of wine. Wine. CREATORS I ~~W~~ MISSED WINE. It’s almost like being happy. 

Oh yeah he’snothappy. What else can I do, it’s been two years. I’m not going back, I can’t go back.

I gotta to take some of this stuff with me.

 

**1:3 Veilfall – Highever – is hangover a season?**

Void take me. I forgot I can’t drink like I used to. There’s got to be a spell to get rid of this pounding headache. Compassion might know, but I according to my last entry I really pissed him off. Creators I hope he doesn’t go to Fen’Harel about this. It would make me far too easy to catch. I probably shouldn’t drink like that again, but I am definitely taking a couple bottles with me. 

Shit. If I remember last night’s dream correctly apparently I pissed off Fen’Harel too. I guess I should be thankful he’s not here already. I think I told him I was better off dead. That was probably the wrong thing to say. He actually lectured me. Like I was Da’len. Perhaps it was childish yet it only made me angrier. Whatever Hahren, you’re not Wisdom you’re Pride. I don’t have to listen to your lectures. 

Remember when I said I thought I crossed an irrevocable line? Well, I used to find occasional respite in dreams, yet since that lapse in judgement in Denerim Fen'Harel has been hunting me relentlessly in them. Most nights I dream of him, his relentless pursuits. It seems that so long as I deny him in waking he will consume my body in dreams. He's angry with me. I hurt his pride when I ran from him in full view of his precious people. He doesn't understand why I won't submit, though he doesn't call it that. That's exactly what it is. I can't, can't reason with him. Can't even speak to him. I know the sentiments that I must convey to our bond hurt him. But I can't help it.

I will never go back. Even if I must run my entire life. As wretched as it surely will be. Not even time will save me now, that is apparent. Living rough should have marked me by now. It hasn’t.

~~Immortality is a curse for those who have nothing to live for.~~

Annnnd yep. I've got a spirit of despair lurking on me again. Ugh, that's embarrassing. 

I've managed to write up to the 37th volume of the Vir'abelasan. I have no doubt as soon as I leave the city I'll have an opportunity to drop them off somewhere.

Note to self: Highever is a good place to stay during the winter. Plenty of game on the outskirts, sometimes even in the city. I've never seen so many rabbits in my life. And chickens! Also there’s a library near the chantry that has several books yet to be printed, I’ve replenished my supplies and hidden the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should finish the next chapter in my main fic this weekend.


	4. The Grand Necropolis

**1:3 Veilfall - Amaranthine Coast – Spring (Bloomingtide)**

Agents. He's sending _agents_ after me now. It would be insulting except they're infinitely easier to deal with, and much easier to dissuade.

Though apparently they know about the journals I write. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I have no doubt Fen’Harel takes great interest in them, for whatever reasons he has these days. I offloaded all the volumes I had on the first pair of agents. They reluctantly left with them, conceding their defeat. Perhaps the knowledge in them is as important as I thought.

Some try to talk me into going with them, some clearly have something to prove and try to take me by force. What really bothers me though is that they keep trying to touch me, offering their bare hands. I don’t know what that’s all about. It must be some sort of trick, maybe a spell of sorts. As soon as they do it I forcefully send them on their way. I’ll have to be wary of this new tactic. Fools.

He's been hand picking Dalish elves that still stubbornly bear their old vallaslin.

That _IS_ insulting. He probably meant to put me at ease, yet he knows full well that my clan exiled me. They are not my people. My people died. My clan is whispers of the dead. I am a keeper of a world everyone else is happy to forget. Though, I wonder if my old clan survived. No, I shouldn’t even entertain that thought. I’m not who I once was, and they despised me then. I’d practically be a nightmare now.

It's like he doesn't know me anymore. Maybe he doesn’t. I’m not even sure _I_ know me anymore.

Perhaps merging with Mythal changed him. Perhaps I never really knew him to begin with.  
One thing is for certain, he's too busy to come after me. It doesn't bode well. His pride shouldn't allow for others to come fetch me. Whatever it is must be pressing.

Compassion might know.

The coast seems calm. I'm going to try to sail across. If I believe I can do it I will right? That's how this works now?

 

**1:3 Veilfall - Planasene Forest – Autumn (Harvestmere)**

Well I made it. Compassion came back. Perhaps because I'm out of wine and can’t use it to run from my fears anymore. The spirit asked if he could travel with me for a time. It's an unusual request. There is much hurt in the world, mine must pale in comparison.

I am not so wrapped up in my own grief to be foolish enough to claim my hurt is the worst. Plenty of elves must have lost loved ones and friends when the veil fell. And despite immortality there are still dangers in this world that result in death.

It's just that it wasn't their responsibility to stop it. No. That was mine. Yet most of them fought for it. Sometimes it feels like I'm the only elf living that fought against this outcome. Surely they must hate me, if not for preventing their losses, than contributing to it.

Why, why did he accept them and not me? How different would I be if I had helped him? If he had let me? Is that the reason for my pain, my stubbornness? Am I just being spiteful because he denied me first?

Compassion please _stop_. I don't want to go down that road. He made me this. Don’t even say it, I know what’s about to come out of your mouth. He’s not fixing it.

More of his agents have found me. I'm getting tired of being polite. The fact he has yet to send someone I know lends legitimacy to either the fact they're all dead, or that they despise me too much to try. I've asked them for news of his empire, they answer little save that I could see for myself if I returned. That _he_ needs me to return. He never needed me, no, not for anything except as a springboard to launch his own efforts. Had I not fixed the sky his plans would have been futile.

Compassion has asked that I go to Nevarra. That there is a hurt there I could heal. I don't know what that means. He won't tell me if this is a request from Fen'Harel or not. Yet as much as I don't want to help **him** , I can't deny those in need. Well, so long as they’re not _him_. Though why this hurt matters I don't know. There are hurts everywhere. Or do I just see hurt everywhere?

I probably shouldn’t linger this close to Kirkwall. ~~I wonder if~~ … No. Don’t think about it. Going there would probably destroy what little of myself remains.

It's becoming more difficult to see any good in this world. Even colors seem muted these days. Maybe my pain has become so profound I am nothing more than a shade, festering like the angry spirits in the cities. Maybe the longer I'm left to myself the more likely I'll be twisted from my nature.

Will I become a spirit of Dominion? Will I seek to deny Freedom? If it comes to that I hope _he_ kills me. I don't want to be that. Compassion looks worried. I know he knows what I'm thinking. Yet he didn't deny the possibility.

Shit.

 

**1:4 Veilfall - ruins of… I don't actually know the name of this city – Summer (Solace)**

I'm somewhere in Nevarra. Hah! Oh right, the capital of Nevarra is Nevarra. Brilliant. His people have no presence here. Lot of dead though. Apparently after the fall of the veil a lot of spirits took up the dead bodies in the old Necropolis out of habit, or perhaps they were already bound at the time? No one's given me a straight answer, perhaps there are many reasons. Usually they're the typically more malicious types but here there are many kind ones that are trapped unwillingly. They beg for freedom from their bodily confinement. I've been here for roughly five months freeing those who ask.

There are a lot of them.

As his people look to themselves the whole rest of the world suffers.

Perhaps I can help right things, perhaps I can save what he doesn't touch. Things he overlooks.  
The spirits I've helped tend to linger. Valor, Compassion, Faith, Joy, Tenacity, Purpose, spirits the citizens of Nevarra had seen in their deceased relatives. Yet in all my wanderings I've never found another Freedom. Perhaps I am the only one?

Either way I am safe here for now. His people won't harm spirits.

Though, they don't follow me into cities anymore. That last pair who tried, well the city tore them to pieces. It wasn't pretty. His people seem to have forgotten Rage, Despair, Fear. The sentiments they embody seem to grow wilder with time. Hate festers.

I don't know what that says about me. That I can walk freely among them. Converse with them, find companionship in them- Where others find their undoing.

Nevarra city is strangely peaceful. Perhaps it had to do with Nevarrans strange relationship with spirits. This city doesn’t hurt, despite the ridiculous amounts of dead. It’s almost comforting. Well, until you think about it too much, that maybe the people here would have treated spirits with the respect they deserved. That they should have had a chance to live.

I wonder if Rivain feels the same. If I ever make it back to Antiva maybe I’ll sail across the Rialto and find out.

Note to self: Nevarrans loved their paper. The whole city is packed with loose parchment. Though I’ve gone through so many journals since I’ve been here, I’ve had to start binding my own. It’s been an interesting experience.

PS: Try to see if Tenacity will spar with me. I think I’m getting rusty.

 

 

**1:4 Veilfall – Nevarra City – Autumn (Kingsway)**

I found a spirit of Pride today. I don't know how I feel about that. It informed me that there are a lot of them in the city. Usually in the higher districts. I've been trying not to go there. But I've been bored. I've been in this city long enough to know the lower districts like the back of my hand. Well, my solid hand that is. My left is ever shifting.

I haven't written about that yet have I? I try not to think about my left hand to be honest. I just pretend it's a normal hand. It kind of is. I _THINK_ there should be a hand there and it just **is**. Though it looks like a spirit. Ghostly grey. My will made manifest I think, or my intent. Intent does make all the difference these days.

Pride was fascinated by it. Then again so was Curiosity, and Cunning, and Desire. But I didn't feel ready to talk about it back then. Maybe I’m still not ready. Yet, the spirit of Pride felt so familiar, so comforting, I couldn’t help but answer all its questions as it showed me it’s domain within the city.

I’m hopeless aren’t I?

To be fair it was a very nice district. I can’t even call this city a proper ruin. Nothing grows out of place, and everything looks orderly. It’s almost as if I could turn around and the citizens of this city would be milling about like they used to. It’s very strange. Pride well… took pride in the fact I complimented his District. He gifted me with a fancy bottle of wine. Compassion probably won’t be happy about it.

Then it touched me. Pride reached out with a shifting hand, brushing it against my face. It said “I can see why he loves you. If you weren’t spoken for by one so familiar I would take you from him and make you my own.” It left me in my shocked silence with a parting request to come visit again.

No. I don’t know how to feel about any of it at all.

Compassion didn’t approve of the wine, nor how much of it I drank in one sitting, though he was unsettlingly hopeful when I told him about Pride. Shit, probably should have kept that to myself.

PS: NEVER ask Tenacity to do anything.  Especially not anything that has to do with daggers.

 

**1:5 Veilfall - Nevarra City – Winter (Wintermarch)**

_Sooooo_. I leave the city in two days. _Annnd_ maybe I visited the spirit of Pride to say goodbye. And maybe ~~he~~ it offered his arm as we walked around the upper districts. I hadn't realized ~~he~~ _IT_ was a greater spirit of Pride, and that the entire city fell under ~~his~~ …It’s… domain. Maybe I took _his_ arm and allowed _him_ to steer me around. I can see the appeal, spirits are... Significantly less complicated than people.

You know, sometimes I can't help but feel my entire life is one elaborate ruse. Like maybe Compassion had a legitimate concern for wanting me to come here, yet he's been far too pleased with himself about me taking a liking to Pride.

If he was capable of being smug he would be.

I dreamt of Fen'Harel that night. I get the feeling he knows that particular spirit of Pride personally, I should have figured. He asked where I was going, I told him I didn't know, which is the truth. He asked again for me to come back to him. He asked _nicely_. Though he said the _V-_ word, I may or may not have cried. Yet I said I can't. No matter how badly I wanted to. It was a pale mirror of the day he broke my heart the first time, only the positions had changed.

He took me with a tenderness I had long given up on.

I wish the world was different.

 

**1:5 Veilfall - Wilds of Nevarra – Winter (Wintermarch)**

I've written my 112th volume of the Vir’abelasan. What can I say? I've had a lot of time on my hands. There is an elvhen ruin a few miles from the outskirts of the city. I managed to break the wards that hid it and there are 75 volumes in a pile next to the eluvian I found. Too many to carry. Tomorrow I'll have to activate it and run. I'm sure he'll know. I think I'll chance stepping into it to see where it leads. Maybe I can find a path that doesn't lead to a city. Although, getting trapped in another ruin won't help either.

Compassion is still with me. Thanked me for freeing all those spirits in the city. The spirit is constantly picking at my hurts though. I know he means well, but it isn't a hurt he can help. Doesn’t stop him from trying though, not a day goes by where he doesn’t try to convince me to return to Fen’Harel. I can’t help but feel Compassion is the reason I haven’t been chased in the last year.

Apparently he's been lingering around Fen'Harel as well. Trying to convince him not to chase me so harshly, that it only makes it hurt worse.

It made me realize something. I've become him. _The old him_. I won't write his name, it hurts enough to think it. This must be how he felt to wake up to a world changed. His people diminished or dead. Bitter, angry, only spirits for company.

I might be going mad out here. I **laughed** and **_laughed_** and **_LAUGHED_**. I couldn't stop myself. I laughed until I cried. Hours of grief and it didn't make a dent.

_I've become him_.

Will I also destroy his world to reclaim my own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ok ok last one for a bit I swear. Probably.


	5. Tevinter

**1:5 Veilfall – Tevinter ruin somewhere in the High Reaches? – Winter (Wintermarch!)**

He knew I had gone through an eluvian. And I felt him discover the journals. It hurt. The sorrow, the grief, the longing he felt. He must have found them, though he didn’t get to them until long after I’d come out in some Tevinter ruin. He didn't chase me though. He must be too busy trying to cleanse the cities. It's not going well from what I can guess from Compassion’s cryptic musings. For all his respect for spirits he can't just will away the pain they embody. They have a right to be what they are. I have a right to be what I am.

The first openable eluvian I found immediately started gushing torrents of water. Oops. There’s now a sizeable lake in that between space. I closed off the wet mirror and warded it in warning. It was a rather tedious trip, testing eluvians. Several in that between-space were still broken, or locked in some manner. Maybe they no longer had a counterpart.

The Tevinter ruin wasn’t too worse for wear. Apparently someone had collected several eluvians and sealed them away inside it. I've opened them all and probed them. His people will find them soon. I don't know why I cared to return them. Then again they belong with the empire. I don't.

Note to self: Be more careful opening strange mirrors. Water is one thing, it wouldn’t do to unleash something worse.

Compassion left again. I feel empty. I had gotten used to his presence. Perhaps it's a tactic to make me realize how badly I miss companionship.

Hah. I'll endure.

Or perhaps Tevinter is unsettling to him, something feels vaguely wrong about this land. I think I'm going to chance Minrathous. I’m too close to pass up the opportunity to see what knowledge might remain there. I don't think it will kill me. But if it does, Compassion or whoever finds this, don't give it to Fen'Harel. He doesn't deserve my last words.

Don't trust the wolf. Your pretty existence isn't all there is. See the world through my eyes. See the despair that lingers in the edges. See what he wrought and I failed to stop. Don't let my world be forgotten.

 

* * *

 

 

He had told her to run and run she did. Though now she never stopped. It hurt, deeply. Yet it was to be expected. She had seen what he'd become, she’d seen what prompted the Evanuris to call him Fen’Harel. He had tried to desperately keep her away, despite her attempts to stop him. It seems he’d finally gotten through to her, and now all he wanted was to take it back.

She had survived. The veil fell and she was still alive, along with many of her quick-blooded kin. That so many survived had been a gift to her, so she could be all that she was supposed to be. He wanted her to see the beauty of his world, through his eyes. He cursed himself for the weakness. He'd intended to die, to bring down the veil. Yet, his last thought was for her. It led him to do something unforgivable. Sacrifice something that shouldn't have been sacrificed. He was _not_ a wise man. Yet she could replace what was lost he reasoned. She could guide the people, if she could only come to love them. If she could only come to love him, once more.

She endured much. Deserts and wastes, unforgiving wilds and corrupted cities. She walked freely among the spirits both light and dark. She learned from them, listened to them. She never corrupted them. It filled him with pride. His little wolf. His spark of wisdom. His source of grief.

She would survive that city too. She had to.

In his attempts to cleanse the human cities built upon the bones of his people he came across a powerful spell in Kirkwall. Familiar magic, wards still active, startlingly complex.

Then he saw it. The memory of what had happened here, still playing. It had been her, his Revas, his vhenan. Her last ditch effort to save what she could. Her consequent failure, her desperation broke him.

He resolved to do all he could to fix it then, this, this was an act that would drive her to ineffable retribution. He knew the depths of that madness intimately, he’d lived it. He would need help. He had to get her to the Dales, had to plan it carefully. That is if she could ever manage to leave Tevinter. He should have warned her, that city was not to be underestimated, and she’d already been missing a year. Time was strange in that city, perhaps she didn’t realize how long she’d been in there. Though he was certain she was still alive. What power lay beneath those stones was intent on keeping him out. Perhaps he’d try once more to break through before leaving to wait. Undoubtedly she would not leave while he lingered on the outskirts.

Compassion was upset with him again.

“She is losing herself! You have to help her!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I am well aware. I must to do this carefully, we need to have patience.”

“She doesn’t have time for patience! She still loves you, buried deep, dark, obscured by hurt. Tell her you’re sorry!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You haven’t tried, it could be.”

He sighed, idly turning over her last written volume in his hands, running his fingers over the rough binding, branded with the tree of Mythal. She’d made this journal from scratch. It was comforting to hold something she’d created, something she once held.

He personally kept every volume she wrote. Perhaps she didn't know but each journal was etched with her presence. Memories of where she was, what she did tinged the pages. He watched her journey unfold more intently than the wisdom she wrote.

He had scribes duplicate the volumes for distribution. Yet the ones she wrote in, they stayed his. It was the closest thing he had to her. He learned all he could. Somewhere in those memories lay the key to her heart once more, the secret that would allow him to save her from becoming him. He had to try, or they would continue to suffer. The world would suffer.

Compassion was right, he didn’t have the luxury of patience, yet he couldn’t just rush in and capture her. She was stubborn. He had to rely on careful planning, to trap her without her knowledge and carefully wear away her resolve.

 

She was steadily becoming darker, losing more of herself with each city she sought refuge in, each year that passed in her exile. Her same openness that allowed her presence to grace the pages also made her susceptible to forces that would twist her nature. If he didn't catch her this time he would lose her, permanently. He couldn't bear the thought.

 

* * *

 

 

**~~1:5~~ Veilfall - Minrathous – Summer?  
[Shit it’s 1:7 – TWO  YEARS ]**

Yeah. Still here.

Still alive. I mean if you can call this living. There is a lot of pain here. There's a lot of knowledge here too. It's all in Tevene though. Very little was recorded in common. It wouldn’t be a problem, except what few spirits here are dark vile things. They have no interest in helping. They are indifferent at best, creepy at worst. I can’t rightly guess at their natures, Disdain perhaps? Terror for certain, yet, there are notes of authority, but darker shades…

Shit. _Subjugation_.

No, don’t think about it. Don’t draw its attention. Deep breath.

Speaking of creepy... There are three massive golems patrolling the city, or at least I think there are only three. They are seldom in the same place at once. They seem mindless, they don't respond to anything I say, yet they stomp along regardless. I hope I don't do anything to upset them.

There are several Elvhen tomes in the greater libraries as well. I've collected those. I drop them off outside the city in a ruin I found hidden underground. The top levels scoured away by time and people. There's another eluvian there. I'll open it when I leave and throw all the books inside. Then I'll close it and flee. No one should come this close to this city.

Fen'Harel has tried. I can feel him probe the borders at times. Frantic. Yet even he cannot stride here like I do it seems. He is no longer forgotten, no longer welcome in their domain. Apparently I am. Something old lurks beneath this city. It allows me safe passage. To what end I don't know. Yet it allows me to leave, allows me to take the knowledge I seek.

Perhaps I am kin to it. Or perhaps it seeks freedom. I fear the price it may exact if I try to leave for good. Surely what I’ve taken hasn’t gone unnoticed.

This city bleeds. _Literally_. The streets are soaked with blood. It creeps down the towering stone walls. The closer you get to the highest point in the city the darker it gets. Some books seep blood as well. It gushes from the pages as if they're living, wounded things. I don't touch those books. The metallic tang of it is so thick in the air I choke on the taste of it. I wouldn’t have stayed here if not for the small spot that lies untainted by the harbor. A spirit of Defiance is stubbornly holding back the darkness.

It showed me things. Memories. Slaves who rose up against their masters, citizens who questioned treacherous rulers. If it wasn’t for Defiance I don’t think I would have lasted this long.

The other spirits here are wretched things.

I am a wretched thing.

I need to leave soon.


	6. Return to Antiva

**1:7 Veilfall - Elvhen Ruin Valarian Fields – Autumn (Matrinalis)**

Compassion finally found me and conveyed how long I was trapped. It only felt like I had been there for months, not years. Perhaps that's why Fen'Harel was so frantic in his attempts to reach me. It's a wonder he isn't already here waiting. Maybe that’s why he sent Compassion. Yet the spirit didn’t linger long, I think my presence hurts him now. Maybe he was just in a hurry to report back. I should have told him to warn Fen’Harel about the city… maybe he will anyways, or maybe he already knows.

Anyways, I did it. I escaped. Whatever is beneath the city sensed I didn’t intend on coming back and it tried to stop me. It tried to drown me in blood, chains and grasping hands. I don't know how I had the will to break its dominion. But it recoiled at my touch, my fury. I remember a white burning light, maybe Defiance protected me? I’m not sure, I ran for the outskirts.

Though it became clear what controlled the golems... Once it failed to ensnare me itself the presence beneath the city directed the golems to attack me. I was forced to destroy the souls that lay within them. It was not a pretty fight. I nearly exhausted my mana burning them from the inside out. I wish I had known of a better way to release them, but I didn't have the time.

There was a massive barrier at the edge of the city. I don't remember it being there before. Was it keeping _me_ in? Or was something else keeping **IT** in? I broke through it. That might be bad, but it didn’t follow me. It’s still inside the city.

There is so much I don't know. Perhaps he is not wrong to try and cleanse the cities. What lingers there is… not good.

I've thrown all the Elvhen tomes and my journals into the between space. I've written 203 volumes to date. Fen’Harel is coming for me. There is a desperation in his chase this time. I can't face him, not now. Not after what I've been reduced to. I need time. I need to heal. I need to forget this city.

I've shattered the eluvian. If he comes that way he won't get out. Unless he can repair them, I suppose it's possible. Either way the books and journals are cleansed, safe. He will find them.

I'm going back to Antiva city. The long way. I can't use eluvians anymore. It's getting more difficult to resist stumbling into his empire and begging for him to fix me.

I want, yet I can't. He doesn't fix things, he breaks them.

 

**1:8 Veilfall - Imperial highway Silent Plains – End of Winter I think**

Silent plains are not silent any longer. I took the imperial road to the edge, hoping to cut off months of travel without having to skirt the coast near Arlathan. Nope. A great black lake lies festering out there and the highway runs right through it. The whole thing whispers. Yet at night in dreams it shrieks. I'm not going out there.

This... This is where Dumat fell, isn’t it? Shit. It's a wonder I made it out of Denerim alive. No wonder he wouldn't follow. Am I already corrupted?

I should have realized this sooner. Whatever the veil was, what if it forced the blight to be physical? What if without it... Oh creators... Could it be spreading?

East or West? I think West around the Plains will take me to the source of the Minater, it’s a much longer trip, yet it’s likely better than a shorter trip through the desert again.

I think I can afford the longer trip, he’s not chasing me, though he’s close. I’m not sure what that’s all about. Compassion hasn’t returned. I guess I’m on my own.

 

**1:8 Veilfall - Caimen Brea – Spring (Eluviesta)**

He's near the edge of Minrathous. I can feel it.

Whole hosts of spirits are fleeing from that direction. One group was led by a spirit of Command and flanked by Hope and Prosperity. The spirit in charge told me that a great battle was being waged up north and that it had been asked to keep the spirits that had lingered near the city safe, to lead them away.

A large host of elves assaulted the city, led by Pride.

Fen'Harel.

I asked it if it knew the fate of Defiance, it didn’t know for sure though it did intimate that if there was a battle, Defiance would be in the thick of it.

\---

Later that night a flash lit the horizon far to the north. The air shook. I get the distinct feeling Minrathous is no more. Yet Fen'Harel remains. I can feel his triumph. He won over whatever was there. I'm not sorry. That city was wretched. Dorian would be sad. Perhaps it's for the best he never saw what his city became. Though, perhaps Qarinus has fared better. Maybe someday I could go see it, though that’s very close to Arlathan…

Maybe not.

 

**1:8 Veilfall – Minater River near Nevarra City – Summer (Ferventis)**

I’ve been travelling as a wolf. I thought perhaps I could hide among them as well. Oh was I wrong.

Apparently he suspected I might try to lose myself in a wolf pack in the wilds. I finally found one outside Hunter Fell, what I didn’t know is that an agent of his was already hiding in the pack, waiting. He was a young shapeshifter. Too eager, and though he caught me by surprise, he was far too brash to capture me.

Barefaced, and eager to serve his Lord. I asked him how someone free of vallaslin, living in the greatest empire of his people could have such a poor concept of freedom. He was far too indignant to answer, perhaps it had something to do with the fact I’d paralyzed him and hung him upside down from a tree. I informed him of his grave miscalculation that had I been more a spirit and less an elf he would have corrupted my nature had he succeeded.

Yet, that's not what bothers me. I almost lost control. I almost killed the elf. I wanted his life, I wanted him to beg forgiveness. Perhaps my nature is already corrupted. I could blame Minrathous, but... No I had seen this coming a long time ago. I am not free. I am trapped in a cage of my own making. My time here is coming to an end. I cannot go on like this.

Fen’Harel met me in dreams soon after. No doubt he’d learned about the scout’s misfortune. That bastard actually got my hopes up. He apologized, sincerely. Then he promptly ruined it by saying he’d instruct his agents to be more careful with me. I walked straight out of that dream not bothering to dignify that with a response.

I am _furious_. He’d come so close to not being an utter asshole I couldn’t help but hope. I am a fool, there is no hope for me.

It riles me to no end that the bastard handles me gentler now that I’m partially a spirit than he ever did when I was only a person. Does he know I’m the last spirit of freedom? Or do those only reside in his empire? The spirit I merged with was certainly the oldest. Freedom shouldn’t be constrained to his empire. Perhaps I will have to be the freedom of the wilds. Perhaps I need to free the wild places.

Perhaps I will have to seek out the Tirashan. Maybe those elves are exiles too, perhaps there are others.

Note to self: Avoid Hunter Fell. Something whispers there.

I’m close to Nevarra City, I wish I could take a detour to visit Pride. If he’s still there. Yet perhaps it’s best he not see how far I feel I’ve fallen.

 

**1:8 Veilfall - Ruins of Antiva City – Winter (Cassus)**

I had hoped to stay here a while. To heal from my apparent years spent in Minrathous. But _he's_ pursuing me in person again.

His frantic pursuit is helping me map the eluvians though. I'm getting better at determining where he is through our bond.

I've restocked on blank journals. I'm thankful my spells held, and they remained undisturbed.

The city is still gorgeous. Trees have begun to overtake the ruins in earnest. The blue waters of the harbor are no longer unsettling, after years of red, blue is a welcome change. Even the harsher spirits here welcomed me back. They are kind, they know what I've been through. And I know them better. I could stay here forever if he didn't force my hand.

He's a few days out from Arlathan.

Cunning has given me a few pointers on how to slip a tail. It might not help me much, but I got the distinct feeling the spirit was taking pity on me. It wasn’t the only one. Even Desire tried to comfort me, not even with a tumble. She just held me like she’d never let me go, maybe I cried… _a lot_.

I've got to make it to the Tirashan and it's going to be a long journey on foot. Even if I can avoid the eluvians, it'll take me close to the Dales. If he catches me there I'll never make it out again. Yet I can’t help but feel like being caught is inevitable, do the spirits here know? I’m too afraid to ask. There’s a certain finality to their kindness. I’m not sure it bodes well.

Perhaps what I’m sensing is his intent? Is his will to catch me stronger than my own to remain free? Yes. Yes it is. This trip is doomed before I even start isn’t it?

I have time, for now. I'm going to sleep under the stars on the lingering warmth of the sun-heated stones and pretend I'm not broken.

 

**1:9 Veilfall - Ruins of Antiva City – Winter (Verimensis)**

He caught me in dreams again. He's getting desperate, his carefully tended patience is waning. I can't deny how good his touch felt. How desperately I missed his body over mine, the softness of his lips, and the sweet simplicity of my name carried on his sigh. He couldn't reach me while I was hidden away in Minrathous. The nightmares that city gave me were too much for him to pull me away.

It was almost enough to surrender to him. Almost. Yet I can't. I can't forget what I failed to do.  
I don't deserve to find happiness. Not when so many others have been denied their future. Yet nagging in the back of my mind lingers a thought, that surely he doesn’t deserve the pain I put him through… after all who knows better what I’m going through than him? That’s a dangerous thought. I can’t shake it.

He's too close. I can't run overland. I'll have to sail back to Ferelden. Yes. That means I'll have to go straight through the Dales.

Farewell my poisonous fruit kingdom.

 

This might be my last entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm I may update this chapter later with artwork. Not sure.


	7. Abelas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the fluff angst trash I write when I get angry about Trespasser.
> 
> PS probably going to downplay the unbound sentiments concept, I can't find my source for why I thought that was a thing. I thought it was a suggestive sentence in Trespasser, but maybe I'm confusing Feynites for canon again. Shit. I should probably be ashamed.

Travel through the Dales was always difficult. The land west of the Frostbacks had largely been reclaimed by the Elvhen, even as far west as the Nahashim Marshes, or so she heard. There were more hidden eluvians here as well. It was dangerous for her to cross the Dales; she had almost been captured here once and had avoided the land as much as she could, as dotted with cities and settlements as it was. However she was running out of places to hide and this was the most direct route to her last ditch destination, the Tirashan. _He_ had come far too close to catching her as she crossed the Frostbacks, wistfully trekking too close to Skyhold. 

Even now she knew he was too close. Feeling their bond getting tugged around as he emerged from different eluvians was disconcerting as usual. She had fled for several straight days without rest, yet he wasn’t closing the distance. As exhausted as she was, she would chance a stop. 

It had been weeks since she'd last left a journal where he would find it. Despite her stubbornness she still wasn't selfish with the wisdom, for years she had been afraid he only wanted her back because of what she could teach their- No, _his_ people. She appeased that assumption, partially to see if he'd let her go, partially because there was much that could be lost if the voices died with her. She'd written 237 volumes to date and there was still much to go if she was any judge. 

Revas finally settled on a secluded copse by a winding stream, shifting to her elven form as she enjoyed the warm breeze. It was summer again in the Dales. It would be hot and dry for weeks yet. She had chosen the spot carefully for its remoteness, and its shelter from any prying eyes. In the largely open plains of the Dirthavaren it was one of the few spots that offered true shelter for miles around, or at least from what she could see, the rolling hills were deceptive. She would have to be careful.

She wasted little time stripping and bathing in the stream, enjoying the cool water soothing her weary muscles. Her reflection was hard to look at. The state of her body was a testament to the last decade she'd spent on the run. She had always been lean, yet her exile spent constantly fleeing had made her even leaner. Hard muscled and thin, she never did get enough to eat it seemed. Her once flawless skin wracked with scars from old battles, not to mention the glaringly obvious missing appendage, thinly veiled in a wisp of an arm, a mockery of what it once was. She washed without haste as she felt her pursuer appear much further away. Well, he either needed rest himself or he was getting ready to spring some trap around her. Knowing him as she used to, she was sure his overconfidence would assume she wouldn't make it out of the Dales this time. She lay back in the water and let her mind drift for a time.

Her meager lunch was roasting over a cheerful little fire by mid-afternoon. She wrote in her latest journal as she waited. This one was almost complete, if she thought she could stay a day or two she might be able to drop it off the next time he got too close. She was certain Fen’Harel found them all. The feelings their bond betrayed often told her just how he felt to hold something that had once been hers, to read words written in her own hand, even though the subject was never her directly. She had refrained from leaving him notes. Having done so at first and it had only made her dreams of him more difficult to endure. 

Perhaps if she stayed lost he would finally forsake their bond, forsake her. Leave her to her misery. No doubt there were plenty of suitable partners clamoring for his attentions in his new empire, someone who wasn’t so beyond broken. She sighed deeply, it's unlikely that would ever be true. Her denial of his offer only seemed to make him want her that much more. She put up the book and ate her lunch, stuffing that train of thought deep down.

She had been dozing as the sun set behind a low hill to the west, trying not to reflexively prod their bond for his whereabouts when she heard the unmistakable sound of soft footsteps nearby. She checked their bond again anyway but no, he was too far away... _Really_ far. What was he up to? Luring her into a false sense of safety? The footsteps drew closer and she rose as quietly as she could, creeping to cover behind the trunk of a tree. She couldn't see the elf but she was certain there was only one. 

_“Halt. If you value your life you will come no closer,”_ she called out in elvhen. She hated altercations with his people and she was in no mood to entertain his agents. 

The elf ignored her request, the footfalls now boldly heading straight towards her. She peeked around the tree and saw a face she'd nearly forgotten. Abelas. 

She gathered up her things hastily as he drew closer. She was about to shift forms and continue to flee when he called out, _“Wait.”_

She froze in her indecision, why send him? She was almost certain the elf wouldn't harm her, not as the bearer of the well of sorrows. His steps hastened until he stepped out into the clearing. She warily regarded the elf. He still stubbornly wore Mythal's vallaslin. He still looked as taciturn as ever, and he looked much better than she surely did. Still draped in the gilded armor he'd worn at the temple of Mythal, hood still shadowing his face despite the heat, he looked strangely out of place. She finished stuffing her things into her pack, before straightening up and meeting his gaze. _“What do you want?”_ Despite her occasional eloquence on a page her spoken tone left much to be desired. 

_“To talk,”_ was all he replied. 

She shifted on her feet, trying to decide if the request was genuine. His sentiments cloaked about him were as ironclad as the ones on his face. She crossed her arms as if it would make her just as difficult to read, _“About what?”_

His response to that question already prepared, _“About you.”_ She narrowed her eyes, why? _“Why would he send you to talk to me, about me?”_

_“He wants you to return to your people.”_

_“They are **not** my people!”_ Her anger so quick to her these days lashed out with her words. _“They never were, and they won’t be now. He made that plenty clear when he took my arm, when he walked off to leave me alone.”_ She dropped her gaze, ashamed at how childishly impertinent she sounded. _”I’m not going back.”_

 _“I am not here to capture you by force, he is aware that won't work.”_

_“So what? He intends for you to convince me to return under my own power?”_

_“Yes.”_

Well at least he was honest. _“Nothing you say will convince me to return. I am better off left alone. He should know that by now.”_ The sentinel elf wasn’t moved by her declaration, in fact he was stubbornly staring her down. She threw her hands up in exasperation, pacing, considering her options. 

Well if this was truly his tactic then she was in no danger of him for the moment. She sighed, sinking to the ground. He would let this play out rather than come after her directly. She rubbed her face with her good hand, _“I am hardly the best conversational partner Abelas, I apologize in advance.”_

The elf _actually_ joined her by her fire. She had been certain he would have remained standing rather than sit cross legged in the grass and dry earth. Perhaps it was a tactic to put her at ease. She sighed at the thought. Her whole life was tactics these days. Everything calculated several moves ahead out of necessity. She sat in silence waiting for the elf to speak his piece. She was ever impatient, perhaps it was another tactic? Yet after what felt like several hours of jagged silence she finally met his gaze. He'd been watching her the whole time. Probably reading into her very apparent emotions as her thoughts raced. _“Are you content to just watch me or do you actually intend to talk?”_

 _“I could just watch if you prefer. You are so expressive I have no doubt I could learn a great deal.”_ There was a very slight smirk on his lips. She groaned, falling to her back to sprawl on the ground. _“Let's just get this over with, I am currently fleeing for my life you know, ask what you will, I _may_ answer it.”_

_“He will not chase you so long as I am here with you.”_

Her eyebrows furrowed at that. That was, ambiguous... _“Do you mean to say your stay is...? Open ended?”_

_“It is.”_

Well. That was clever. _“So is this how he intends to bring me into the fold? By inches?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_“He could have sent a better conversational partner. No doubt one must exist somewhere in his empire.”_ She paused thoughtfully, _“Did he force you to come shadow an unwashed savage or did you come willingly?”_ That would be essential for her to decide whether to play along or to cut her losses and run for it. 

_“I volunteered for this duty.”_

_“Ah, duty...”_ The taste of those words was always bitter in her mouth. She knew all too well what duty felt like. Silence fell again as she watched a sun-stained cloud march arrogantly across the darkening sky. She could almost pretend he wasn't there. That was dangerous. _“You may want to rethink your duty, I do not live well out here, and my company is surely lacking the finer qualities you're used to.”_

_“You could always return with me. There is a place for you.”_

Oh now that hurt. There was no home and there was no place for her. _“Abelas I've never had a place in this world neither before the fall of the veil nor now. Any place I might have been able to make for myself died with the fall of the veil, died like I should have died.”_ She shifted into her wolf form to help hold back the tide of her grief. Curling tight upon herself by the fire. 

A slight sigh escaped him as she heard him shift, the sound of his armor clinking on the small stones beneath the grass. He must have laid down, perhaps he finally realized how impossible she was going to be. Good, she thought, maybe he’ll give up. She tried to shut out the small sounds he made as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep at last, her exhaustion not allowing her much choice in the matter but to dare to trust the odd arrangement. Her dreams were blissfully free of confrontation, though she still felt his eyes on her, across a great distance. She had no doubt Fen'Harel would be following this ploy with great interest. 

\--- 

She awoke around midnight with a start. The fire had been tended, yet Abelas was nowhere to be seen. She got to her feet quickly shifting into her elven form, preparing to gather her things and run when the elf's soft footfalls heralded his return. She froze at the sight of him. He had a pack across a shoulder that wasn't there before. She eyed him suspiciously. 

He promptly answered the mystery of his new belongings, _“There is a house not far from here he stated. It has been supplied for you.”_

Her strength fled her as she sank to her knees in front of the fire. So he'd been herding her all this time? Waiting for her to be desperate enough to chance the Dales again? It made sense now why he hadn’t rushed to close the distance, content to only chase her just enough to influence her heading, he’d put her here. She let out a ragged sigh as Abelas joined her by the fire again. He wordlessly laid out two bedrolls before building up the fire to cook dinner. By the smell of it, it had to be something much nicer than her usual fare of game and wild fruits and vegetables. 

She didn't dare protest, her hunger overwrote her fears. She knew Fen’Harel had planned this well. To gradually show her what she was missing. To slowly wear away her resolve. She dug through her pack and resumed her writings, trying to drown out her own thoughts to listen to the wisdom of others. 

They ate in silence, though she had the grace to thank Abelas for the food. She'd silently cursed herself for the courtesy, perhaps if she acted the savage he'd give up on her. Then again, perhaps he'd prefer her company to facing the dread wolf's ire in failure. Despite her anger it wasn’t fair to lash out at him. She only had herself to blame for being here. 

They had finished their meal and he was eyeing her thoughtfully. She let him; all his thoughtful silences in the world couldn’t hurt her, walking off to clean their bowls in the stream. When she finally returned to the fire she noticed his gaze remained. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her incorporeal hand. _“Yes Abelas? What is it?”_

 _“Yes what is it indeed?”_

She dropped her hand in exasperation meeting his gaze. But not quite... She finally realized he was staring intently at her left hand. She held it up slightly, _“This?”_

He nodded. _“Why not simply grow it back? Surely you must be capable?”_

She sat down in a huff. _“I do not wish to. It is a reminder of my failure.”_ She stifled a groan, _that_ was probably too much information for the elf to have. Any little bit of information that slipped from her mouth could potentially arm him to take her carefully fortified resolve apart at the seams. 

He eyed the arm intently. _“May I?”_

She searched his gaze. May he _what_ , examine it? She was sure her expression told him all he needed to inform his response.

 _“I have no intention to harm you. I only wish to see what you've crafted.”_

She let out a long sigh, shifting herself to face him. He stood, closing the distance between them quickly. She couldn't hide the flinch when he sat down and crossed his legs in one fluid motion, his knees nearly touching hers. He. Was. Too. Close. Her every nerve screamed at her to put distance between them again, yet she froze as he gently took up her spectral arm in his hands. Those hands, **no** , they were far too much like _his_ , broad palmed and long fingered. She clenched her teeth as she fought to stay composed. Holding her breath as his fingers gently trailed across her arm. Probing the shifting grey form of it. His hand clasped hers as her arm began to shake. She was losing this battle, this trap was beyond her fragile ability to cope with. Just when she thought she was going fall to pieces he gently relinquished his hold on her. Though he still sat far too close. She clutched the arm to her chest like it had been wounded anew. Refusing to meet his gaze. 

He spoke softly, _“That is your will made manifest?”_

She let out a ragged breath, answering with a quiet yet indignant _"Yes."_

A small sound of approval escaped his throat as he moved back to a more comfortable distance, before climbing into his bedroll armor and all. She was hardly surprised. 

She eyed the other with trepidation. She normally slept in her wolf form to keep warm when necessary, the only comfort was the occasional bed in some derelict abandoned house, but those had been few and far between. Abelas was still watching her. 

_“The bedroll is not a trap Revas.”_

She had put several paces between them in her sudden panic. Barely realizing she'd made it to her feet. _“How do you know that name?!”_

_“Everyone knows that name. Fen'harel makes no secret of you.”_

That did little to ease her nerves as her reflexive thought escaped on her voice. _“To what end?”_

_“You already know the answer to that question.”_

That she did. But she didn't want to think of that. No. She didn't want to think of that at all. Nor did she really want to hear it spoken aloud, so she reluctantly edged closer to her bedroll. Compromising and sitting on top of it, promptly assuming her wolf form and curling up into a ball. 

If Abelas was a more amusing person she was sure he'd have laughed. As it was he just watched her as she slowly drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was surprisingly difficult to keep Abelas from absconding with Revas. I mean he'd probably be less of an asshole than Solas. 
> 
> Solas: Broke heart, maybe took vallaslin and left you, took your arm even though it would have killed you (which was entirely his fault to begin with), basically says good luck with the end of the world, _your_ people need you, _my_ people need me more. _Yes_ , I am still salty about it.
> 
> Abelas: said mean things that were pretty much true. 
> 
> I can see the allure of modern/other AU. It's probably the only way things will ever truly end happily for these two.


	8. What Touch Bestows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry egg. You blew it.

When she woke well after sunup Abelas was gone again, yet his pack, his things remained. She briefly picked up the strings attached to her heart, discerning that Fen'Harel was closer than he was last night, but not close enough to make her consider fleeing. She huffed, thinking it would be best to just pick up and leave before Abelas returned, but perhaps she could use the respite she was given. She also sorely needed information if he'd be willing to answer her questions, and her latest journal was nearly finished. Perhaps a week, nothing more.

She shifted into her elven form, stripping out of her armor as she headed to the stream. If she was going to have company she could probably try harder to be somewhat presentable.

She slipped into the cool water once more. Letting the lazy current calm her thoughts. It didn't help much. He'd never sent a sentinel elf, or any ancient after her so far as she knew. Only the markedly shorter in stature formerly quick-blooded elves. Why him? Was it because they had a passing familiarity? She scoffed, it was not exactly like they had any sort of rapport. Perhaps it was only the well of sorrows he was concerned about. Perhaps they knew she was about to do something drastic and needed to step up their plans. She sat up sharply at the thought.

"Shit". Compassion, it had to be. He must have guessed her mind, informing _THEM_ of the need to stop her. Well they wouldn't. She would use this plan of theirs to regroup and leave. She hardened her resolve once more as she stabbed again at something akin to relaxation.

Her skin had a nice tan to it these days. She often lay out under the sun as if its heat could warm her heart. Despite how nice it felt it rarely eased the pain in her chest. A pain that seldom left her these days since Minrathous. Half a year since she last saw Antiva, and even the flush green life of the wilds hadn't washed her of that city. She shivered at the thought as much as at the water that suddenly felt too cool. She swam out further into the patch of sun in the deepest part of the stream, her feet still comfortably touching bottom.

Her hair was an utter mess, she’d seriously considered chopping it off most days. Long hair had no place in her lifestyle of constant neglect. Yet, she’d always stayed her hand, her tresses a relic of happier times, and the current ragged state of it a distinct indication of how far she’d fallen. Working her fingers through it served as well a distraction from her thoughts as any while she surveyed her surroundings. Her fingers made little progress. It was a beautiful place she thought. The small copse of trees looming over the stream, shielding her from the open rolling hills, the shade dappling the light as it shifted over her. If she wasn't on the run she felt she could stay here forever and never grow tired of it. Thoughts like that were dangerous, she couldn't afford to relax like that. It was too easy to pretend.

Soft footsteps reinforced the fact that it would never be her fate. She turned slowly in the water to see Abelas standing on the bank, a small pack in his hands. She contented herself to stare in silence as she worked her fingers through her hair. He wordlessly sank, sitting on his heels as he began removing things from the bag. She began to grumble under her breath when she realized they were bathing supplies, soaps and combs a scrubbing cloth.

_“Are those from that house as well?”_

_“They are.”_ He replied, setting everything out on a short outcropping of stone.

_“I don't need those.”_

_“He thought you might like them.”_

_“Well now I definitely don't need those.”_

He eyed her curiously as her fingers snagged in her hair. _“That's not what it looks like.”_

_“I don't care what it looks like. I don't need to be that presentable in the middle of nowhere.”_

_“Then why bother?”_ He was decidedly smug, and worse he was right.

Her face darkened into a scowl as she gave up and swam closer to the rock keeping herself carefully submerged, avoiding the scrutiny in his gaze. Watching the veritable statue of an elf carefully for any sudden movements as she peered at him over the edge of the outcropping. She shifted her gaze to the bottles. He slowly reached for one and pushed it closer, _"This one."_

She narrowed her eyes before tentatively grasping the bottle sinking back into the water as she examined it, her barely tangible hand slipping as she attempted to open it.

_“I could assist you."_

She bit back, _“I'm not wearing anything, and I'm not getting out of the water while you're watching. So unless you intend to get in…”_ He actually looked like he was considering it. _“No, no don't get in. I can manage.”_ She drifted further out into the stream, finally uncapping the bottle as she went. She almost tossed the whole thing and its contents downstream. It smelled of spice and coconut. The scent she wore before Fen'Harel broke her heart. It was a cream to loosen the knots in her hair. She shook some out of the bottle as she turned away from Abelas, rising out of the water part way to lean against an island of rock, setting the bottle on the flat of it that jutted out of the water. She slowly dissolved into quiet sobs as she worked the cream into her hair. It worked wonders, the knots unraveled almost at once, but she wished it smelled different. It unraveled her newly reinforced resolve as well. Leave it to wolf to send sorrow to make her cry, she thought bitterly.

She sank back down washing the cream from her hair as she heard his footsteps recede. She chanced a look back to see he was returning to her camp. The supplies still laid out for her. Once she finished with her hair she swam back over to the outcropping, sweeping the area with her eyes before partially rising up out of the water. There was a simply adorned comb carved with small curling vines. Several bottles and soaps of varying shapes, a couple scrubbing cloths, and a new pair of small clothes and breastband. Both in soft black cotton. She hauled herself up onto the rock, letting her feet dangle in the water as she wrung out her hair, letting the warm breeze dry her skin. Unaware of Abelas' eyes catching painfully on her scars, roaming over her skin. Taking particular notice of what appeared to be a wolf bite to the back of her neck. It filled him with unease.

She presented a peculiar puzzle to him. Vastly different from the wide eyed shadow that walked the petitioner’s path all those years ago. No, now she was resigned, hardened, a true shadow of her former self, according to what Fen’Harel had told him about what she used to be. She was once a bright spark, a light of laughter and wit, now she was set fatalistically to a restless fate that he suspected even she didn’t know the true depth of. Drifting aimlessly though the wilds, it had taken a toll on her, if not in time then in spirit. She was a wounded animal, the task of helping her heal seemed insurmountable, but he was sorrow, he knew hurt well. Only time would tell if he could manage to heal it. Time the wolf was reluctant to give him.

She was contrary on purpose. Likely the nature of freedom mixed with her strong will. Catching her been startlingly easy, Fen’Harel had planned this well. Though, Abelas was almost certain she would've run as soon as he turned his back if he hadn't enticed her with the reprieve. She looked so worn and ragged. He wasn't surprised she accepted.

It would be a slow process to win her over. If what the wolf said was true then she had the potential to be so much like Solas that it was no wonder he had been drawn to her. The pride of that man would always draw him to kindred spirits. The closer they were to his nature and the more unobtainable they presented themselves, the more likely he would be to chase them. Wisdom was the prime example of that. Yet, her carefree spirit, her kindhearted nature was something Solas largely lacked. Perhaps it was her youth, or her namesake. He wondered how different the world would've been if she'd succeeded in gentling the wolf. He wondered if her heart had endured the pain and those qualities could still be salvaged. He would have to catch her hand to find out.

Well, her tangible hand. He was impressed by her will, her ability to manifest it into a functioning arm. He was also impressed by her resolve to write down the wisdom of the Vir’abelasan. It showed a dedication, a sense of duty he hadn’t expected from her, she who stubbornly ran the wilds to spite their people.

He had reluctantly consented to bring her a gift from Solas, the bathing supplies. They had been painstakingly crafted for her. Simple things tied to memory, he approved, though he thought it was far too soon. His offer to assist her had been genuine, though he also wanted to see what other scars she bore from her rough life. She predictably turned him down, so he left her to it, the pain in her telling him it was best to give her some space, for now. Perhaps he could do something nice for her, something without an order from the wolf behind it.

\---

She had resolutely not touched the other supplies save to put them back in the bag. Though, she had dressed in the new smalls and breast bindings, more out of necessity to not wander around naked than anything else. Idly picking her way back to camp, she quickly became aware that Abelas had collected her trail of armor. She swore quietly. If he'd hidden her armor and presented her with some gaudy Elvhen monstrosity she'd leave. Half naked or not.

In fact it appeared he had magically mended and cleaned her armor. It caught her by surprise. She watched him searchingly as he finished the spell on her last pair of leggings. Why would he do that? She couldn't keep the scowl from her features as she moved closer to the smoldering campfire, rummaging through her pack for her last threadbare tunic, dragging it over her head as she reached for the next unfinished journal. Settling down on her bedroll, she tried to focus on the voices of the Vir’abelasan. She wasn't going to let him win her over like this. No doubt every single move was carefully crafted against her. She could ignore it.

He wasn't content to let her ignore it.

She'd finally cleared her mind and was about to start writing when she felt a small tug behind her at the collar of her tunic. She flinched. How did he sneak this close!? She snapped the book shut, whipping around to look up at him. The damnable neutral expression on his face was just what she expected. _“What are you doing?”_

_“This needs mending as well.”_

_“It doesn't need mending.”_

He raised his eyebrow at the obvious tattered state of the garment. So she rephrased, _“I don't want it mended.”_

He didn't move, just stood there staring at her like she was a petulant child. Her expression darkened, _Fine_ , she could act like one. She flung the shirt off and threw it at his face, stalking off towards the stream to write in peace. His barely audible sigh drifting after her on the breeze.

\---

Night had fallen again by the time she had actually managed to finish filling out the journal in her solitude. Flipping through the pages as she reviewed the content by the light of a small spell, she always wrote a brief summary of contents when she finished each one, inking her name and volume number in the front cover. She wrote the books in Elvhen, but the front cover was always in Common. She wouldn't deny the elves the knowledge but she wouldn't make it that easy on them. No doubt common was still well known, if not actively used, but she had decided to employ the slight nonetheless. She wouldn't let them forget so easily.

She'd just finished casting her spells to preserve the book when Abelas strode quietly up behind her again. She stiffened perceptibly as he sat next to her. Not touching but far too close. He was probably trying her patience on purpose, or trying to make her accustomed to close company. The elves in the empire were always touching it seemed. Little gestures, a brush here, a grasp there. Small things that flowed as easily as their unbound hearts. It reminded her of the agents that had been sent after her, always trying to touch her.

Touch wasn't something she enjoyed and she shuddered at the thought. She'd forsaken such things when Fen'Harel ate her heart.

He held out his hand palm up over her right knee. She wordlessly handed him the book. He took it and set it aside carefully. Returning his hand to where it was, invitingly. She looked at him sidelong, much to her dismay he was staring at her unwaveringly.

She reluctantly met his gaze in full, she didn’t want to be stared at all night. _“Abelas I'm not a mind reader.”_

_“Precisely.”_

“Wait- What?” His reply was so absurd she’d blurted her incredulity out in common.

_“Take my hand. I will help you make sense of it.”_

She eyed him warily, what the hell was he on about? Make sense of what? His purposefully cryptic response had intrigued her nonetheless, and she found her hand drifting tentatively to his, betraying her curiosity. The slightest touch of her fingers brushing his palm and he suddenly grasped her hand, threading his fingers through hers and holding it tight as the electricity of the contact shot through her. A startled cry escaped her as she was overwhelmed by the rush of his emotions, his memories. Her incorporeal hand went to her forehead as she tried to fight the onslaught of knowledge that poured into her from his grasp. She was trembling. _This_ is why they touched. It made sense. They were able to share so much by the merest brush of their fingers.

It was too much. _"He wanted you to know what it felt like, to not be alone."_

And with that she broke, the things he conveyed changed. A strange warmth flooding her, images of hope and companionship in place of the initial depth of his own sorrow. She cried out into her ghostly hand. The wisp of it not muffling her anguish yet still he hung on. She vaguely felt him drawing on her own hurts. He would know everything, yet she couldn't stop it, she didn't know how.

She felt laid bare and it hurt, tearing open her hardened heart. All her old hurts made fresh, hot knives working themselves deeper with each wave. She doubled over in her sorrow. Sobbing into her left hand openly as he gently released her right. To be in her own mind again was not a comfort.

_“I had wondered if it would have worked with your manifested hand. However your will focused there was too strong for a connection.”_

She barely paid attention to his words. She couldn't help but betray her hurt to the bond between her and Fen'Harel. He would know everything. He would know he succeeded. That only made it hurt worse. She didn’t want to go back. Abelas wordlessly handed her a small square cloth, hesitating a moment before he relinquished it and she immediately buried her face in it. It was another mistake. It smelled of elfroot and smoke, the vague scent of a wolf pelt. It smelled like Solas. She cried even harder as all at once she was kneeling in a pool flanked by towering statues of harts, kneeling before an eluvian her arm disintegrating before her eyes, standing at a frigid distance beneath the arch of a deserted ruin as he defeated her with words once more. He must have put all his cunning into this trap and she was a fool to think she could have outsmarted it, to think she could endure it.

Her anguished cry echoed out into the night.

\----

Her hurt had run dry as she lay on the bank. The small square of cloth clasped tight in her left hand. The hand that could feel without feeling, as if keeping it there would keep him away from her. Abelas still sat by her side, she was lucid enough to realize he was vaguely uncomfortable about something. Good, she thought bitterly, that had been exceedingly cruel of him. She had dissolved into cursing him with all her might before resigning herself to quietly shaking out her grief, imploring whatever fate had led her here to just end it and let her have her peace. She felt empty in the wake of it all. Yet still he sat resolutely. She was aware that an hour or so ago he'd picked up the finished journal and began reading it.

 _“What now?”_ Her voice was barely above a whisper, aware of how small and broken she sounded.

 _“Whatever you wish.”_ He seemed to genuinely mean that, it was… unexpected.

 _“I'm not going back,”_ she stated with a resoluteness she barely clung to.

It earned her a sidelong glance as he appraised her. _“No. Not yet, perhaps.”_

 _“Not **ever**.”_ She declared rolling to face away from him.

She didn't know when she fell asleep but her dreams were blissfully empty. Neither nightmare nor Fen'Harel dared intrude on her that night.

Abelas set the journal aside once he was certain she was truly asleep. He’d made it dozens of pages in, yet he hadn’t taken in a single word of it. His entire wealth of focus spent on appearing calm, undisturbed by what he’d pulled from her memories. He’d earned every single curse she’d thrown at him. She presented a different story than he'd been led to believe, a different side of the wolf. That he'd been capable of such ruthlessness towards her, his supposed heart, it was disquieting. He pulled his gloves on once more, taking care not to disturb her as he gently swept her hair from the back of her neck, baring it to him. The prominent scar set there was unmistakable. The bite from a wolf, and not just any wolf if what he'd gleaned from her memories was correct. Dread filled him. He was going about this entirely wrong, he was breaking her down, not healing her hurts. The wolf had done far too much damage for her to be healed with sentimental gifts, sentiments that provoked much darker recollections for her. No, this way would twist her nature further as the blades of grief set deep in her heart twisted inward. He felt deeply ashamed to have perpetuated her misery, now that he understood it, _intimately_. The fact she was still alive at all was a wonder. He couldn't help but admire her tenacity in this new light, without it she surely wouldn’t have survived. Someone of lesser will would have succumbed years ago. His sudden fondness for her was both unexpected and extremely unwise.

What he'd seen in her deeply shook his confidence in Fen'Harel. Their people would need Revas now more than ever if their wolf faltered in his guidance.

He gently scooped up her unconscious form, hoping she would not wake. Breathing a sigh when she remained asleep, tucked tight against his chest as he carried her back to camp. He gradually relinquished her to her bedroll, tucking her in. He leaned in close, a whisper lost on her in dreams, “Forgive me Revas, I had no idea.”

He tended the fire once more, contemplating his possible moves. This small stubborn elf troubled him greatly. He watched her long. The shallow rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch of her eyelids, he sat fixated and did not manage to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ahem* Sorry, you lovely kudoers. It's been noted that my Solas redemption arcs between these two are a bit... ah, lacking, and I used up all my redemption points in another fic. Ooops. 
> 
> I hope this becomes as cathartic as I hope.


	9. Terms and Conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worst best chapter title. Solas version will be delayed and likely drastically different- This chapter kinda ran away by itself against my will.

She awoke to the light of dawn, tucked into her bedroll by the fire. She woke to confusion. This was _not_ how she had fallen asleep, the last thing she remembered was a rush of memory and pain… Abelas had _touched_ her. It instantly soured her mood. How _dare_ he, she fumed. He'd moved her while she slept, and not only that he’d... Tucked her in? Why? It appeared he was gone again, or she'd have told him precisely what she thought of his care. She angrily rubbed sleep from her eyes and rolled to free herself from the vestiges of his thoughtfulness, violently undoing his efforts as she fished her own journal out of her pack.

She flipped to the first blank page at the beginning, the page she normally reserved for summaries. She hadn't been able to think of sufficient words to sum up the misfortune of her life... Until now.

She set to work on her entry, her anger making her script sharp and untidy,

**1:9 Veilfall- Dales – Summer (Matrinalis)**

Abelas is a dick. 

Fen'Harel is a bigger dick. 

She sighed as she studied the angry script. It was a childish entry, born of her stubborn anger. It didn’t make it any less the truth though. She should probably elaborate on that somehow, but elaboration was the last thing she wanted to do. She couldn’t bring herself to focus on the things he imparted, the depth of his own burdens, how it felt to just simply hold his hand. That for a few moments she wasn’t alone neither in reality nor in the weight of failure she carried. That alone had been a shock, to know he felt at fault for Mythal’s demise. She resolutely refused to read into it, it must be a trap- to be sent someone who could understand her misery, to translate it, to fix it. She was too much like the threadbare tunic, and he the strangely gentle spell that could make it whole once more. That small gesture threatened everything. She was safe while she was separate, getting attached to things only made them hurt more to lose. 

Perhaps it would be good to elaborate on her own story, the whole story from the beginning, just in case anyone cared to learn it. A testament of her loss and pain, perhaps it would help her keep her resolve to put it in fresh perspective, perhaps it would keep her from going back only to make her old mistakes anew. She was certain those two would drive her to her death sooner than she planned, that this tiny book might be all that would remain. She took a deep breath and turned to her last entry and began at the beginning. Slowly writing her story out to keep her thoughts from drifting to what his touch had done to her. She wrote undisturbed, lost to bitter memory until midday when the faint sound of footsteps had her hastily closing the book, quickly casting a spell of concealment over the pages to make them appear blank. She shoved it deep into her pack just before Abelas came into view. 

He had returned with more food. It was the only thing that kept her civil. 

After he had washed up and put away their bowls he settled down beneath a tree. She tried to ignore his presence, tried to clamp down on her curiosity for a while but it quickly proved an impossible task. It seemed he had been expecting her questions as he opened his eyes when she turned to him. 

_“You took the journal.”_

_“I did.”_

_“What did you do with it?”_

_“I passed it on.”_

_“At the house?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his passive stare. _“You're informing on me aren't you?”_

_“It was part of the agreement.”_

_“I never agreed to it.”_

_“You did implicitly, by remaining here to keep Fen'Harel from pursuing you.”_

That brought a growl from her throat, and the ease with which it surfaced in her was faintly embarrassing. Perhaps she'd spent too much time as a wolf in the last decade. _“And if I left now would you follow? Or would he?”_

 _“I would follow you for a time. However he would know if you strayed beyond the boundaries of this place. You would not leave the Dirthavaren without him catching you.”_

She narrowed her eyes further at that. So she was trapped in truth. She wondered what the boundaries of this place were. It likely wasn’t something she should test to find out. _“Why did you volunteer for this? Surely someone of your stature has tasks to better suit your purpose?”_

 _“This task is of the utmost importance.”_

She didn't believe him, scoffing _“Importance,”_ starting to turn away when his explanation halted her effort.

 _“The people look to Fen'Harel to keep them safe and to restore what was lost, Fen'Harel looks to you. Your return would benefit all.”_

_”My return would benefit **them**.”_ Her fiery yellow eyes met his gold, the clash of flame when faced with a mirror. She stood slowly in her growing anger, aware she was still only dressed in her underclothes. It did nothing to lessen her rising indignation. _“No one has ever cared about what I want,”_ she spat. _“No one cares what freedom desires. No- they all want to shackle her for their ideals, chain her for their triumph. After all what greater conquest is there other than to cage something that should be free? I am not some figurehead to worship. I am not some pawn to be placed strategically for morale. Not any longer.”_ Her fists were clenched, her grey memory of an arm rapidly growing more solid in her anger, burning too bright to remain contained. 

She took a steadying breath, quenching her anger with a forced calm. It wouldn't do to set her mock paradise on fire. She gave Abelas a withering look before grabbing her journal and ink. At least he had the sense not to say anything in return. _"Tell him this then- If he brings me in I'll be as likely to tear his empire apart from the inside out as help it. He should think twice before coming after me. He should have let me die."_

She turned on her heel, striding off to the edge of the grove to flop down in the sun. The pleasant burn of it soothing her anger as well as the scathing words she wrote. 

She spent the rest of the day getting sunburnt while rolling around in the grass writing her unfortunate journey. Occasionally jotting down anecdotes on her revelations, when things went wrong, when things were the last time something occurred, when the wolf hinted at what he had planned. If only she’d been sharper, if only she hadn’t unknowingly convinced him that his path had been the right one. Pausing in her writings to cast slight healing spells to ease the burn on her skin as she wrote. She had no doubt Abelas was watching her from the trees. _Let him_ she thought angrily, maybe he'll gain some concept of what freedom is. 

And that he did, though not the way she imagined.

He did not doubt her words. She was not entirely as the wolf remembered, and she was anything but weak in her diminished state. Yet there was something unsettling about her depth of anger. Something dark lurked in the sentiments of her words. It concerned him more than he let on as she stormed off. If Revas had already been twisted that far from her nature then he was running out of time. Freedom could always go two ways, servitude or subjugation. He suspected the latter, yet any wrong move could tip her the other way. Her situation was precarious. 

That she could still rein herself in voluntarily gave him hope.

* * *

They had spent almost a week in their uneasy arrangement. Talking little and she was certain he hadn't figured out how to handle her latest challenge, her anger, her bitterness. It was fitting, as she still did not know what to make of this strange stony sentinel. His demeanor betrayed only hints at the depth of emotion he carried. She found herself thinking about it more than she was comfortable with. It was a grudgingly pleasant distraction from the darkening sentiments she felt from her bondmate. She was fairly certain her message had made it to Fen'Harel, unless something else had prompted him to feel that pang of pain and regret. An old anxiety rose in her at times as she questioned if he'd be patient enough to let this play out, yet every time she reached he was always far enough away to put her mind at ease. She wondered if she could keep this stalemate in permanent stasis. Indecision mired her thoughts. She had meant to only stay for a week, yet not being chased for once was something she hadn't dared even imagine after the chaos of the last six months. Almost a true respite- as she knew the longer she indulged, the more likely other traps were slowly closing their jaws around her. 

Her uncertain future only made her writings all the more imperative to finish.

Abelas continued to watch her often, though she wasn’t sure if that had more to do with the lack of interest the grove held, or his perceived duty towards her. She ignored it as best she could and buried herself in her writings. She slowly began to feel lighter as her hurts poured out onto the pages, yet a different sort of pain arose to weigh her down. She was running out of time. 

It hadn't gone unnoticed to her that her guest wasn't nearly as taciturn as he once was. Though she was reluctant to acknowledge his stare, when she occasionally caught his gaze it was, softer somehow. _Apologetic_ even. She'd absently returned his stare this time even as she contemplated it, and found herself pinned by that look. It was startling. Yet instead of causing her to put up more walls, they slipped through her fingers entirely.

_“Why are you staring at me like that?”_

He looked away sharply- was he? _Oh he **was**_... Even at this distance she could see the slight color rising on his cheekbones. He was embarrassed? That couldn’t be possible. She stood and closed their distance, crouching in front of where he sat beneath his usual tree. She leaned in, tilting her head, trying to peer up at him where he tried to hide under his hood.

 _“What are you hiding?”_ Her curiosity was running rampant.

_“A momentary lapse in judgement. It won't happen again.”_

She raised an eyebrow, “Oh?” Her hand was already reaching to pull back his hood. He completely refused to meet her gaze now, the reversal was _utterly_ fascinating. She gently tugged at his hood and it fell back as his gaze snapped to hers once more. She couldn’t stop the soft noise of surprise that escaped her. She had fully expected him to be bald, yet a swath of white hair cut down the center of his head, shaved close along the sides, the top bound in a long braid. The delicate branches of Mythal's vallaslin reaching outwards from his forehead. There was a heat in his gaze she couldn't place, he looked vaguely angry? Perhaps she'd stepped too far.

“Oh, sorry.” She moved to retreat to give him space, yet he reached out, catching her ghost of an arm. She froze, expecting to be inundated with pain, but then- she realized he'd done it on purpose, to prevent exactly that. His gaze was probing. She didn't know what he was looking for, but she cautiously held it, letting him see whatever it was he looked for. It was, after all, a safer alternative.

_“Do you wish to return to him?”_

_That_ had not been even remotely what she expected as her surprise surely registered once more. To actually be asked what _she_ desired to do, it was enough to convince her to sit back down in front of him. He released her as she thought long on the question. Of everything the wolf had done to her, taken from her. That he seemed to have been as willing to sacrifice her as any of his so called people to further his plans… Her mood wilted with each step she took in her descent to the real answer, not the easy stubborn answer. That he’d turned her away was one thing, but the cruel stabs at her friends to draw her attention away when she was getting too close… Panic rose in her just at the thought. That she considered returning at all made her feel- _guilty_ , she missed who she thought he was. Even if he could be that person for her again... She couldn't be who she once was for him. It would only drive more pain between them, and if it didn’t then it would be a mercy she didn’t deserve. The answer on the last step was hard won and a hollow pit opened its arms. She let it take her. _“No.”_

_“Why?”_

_“You drew on my pain, I felt it. You should know as well as I do- why."_

A slight grimace graced his features. _“Yes.”_ A pause. _“Would you return to the empire, to teach others, to help guide them if he let you go?”_

She sighed sadly, _“That’s like asking me to return if you can stop the sun from rising, I don't think he ever will.”_ She regarded him with a sudden suspicion, _“Why do you ask?”_

_“What he has done to you shouldn't be allowed to continue. Freedom shouldn't be bonded in the first place without great care. It is dangerous to the nature of one such as you.”_

She was taken aback at the softness of his statement as much as how shockingly close to the truth he was. If it was that obvious to him… Perhaps her time left was more limited than she guessed. It was that softness that caused her to divulge more than she probably should. _“I know. I am… living on borrowed time Abelas. I am… unwell. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, yet it seems being aware of the problem isn’t enough to stop it.”_ The look in his eyes was slightly alarming and she debated whether or not to continue. She sighed, running her hand down her face, _“I’ll show you.”_ She stood with a quick stretch in a feeble attempt to shake her concerns, striding over to her pack to fetch up her concealed journal, shielding the spell to reveal the pages from his sight before returning to sit before him. She opened it to the entry that had tipped her off- well into her description of Haven and the Breach, offering up the book to him. She pointed out the word that concerned her, _“See this here? It’s Tevene. It was spoken in Tevinter. I do not know this language.”_ She pointed out the next occurrence of the foreign language, _“It appears here, and here, and here as well.”_ Once he looked up she turned back the pages to the first occurrence. _“It began immediately after I left Minrathous, I was trapped there for a time. See this? This month should say August, not Matrinalis. All the months I’ve written since have switched to the Tevinter naming convention, without my noticing. Something in that city… may have changed me. Whatever lay there, may not have been completely destroyed.”_ She shifted slightly and dropped her gaze as she barreled on with her unfortunate honesty. _"It's only in my journal, it hasn't happened to the wisdom of the Vir’abelasan, so... It's just me."_

His silence wasn't exactly a good thing this time. She was suddenly afraid to look up, afraid her fears would be mirrored in that gaze of his. Afraid she'd twist against her nature before she managed to end her journey. She almost moved to get up, to return to her walls, yet... Something about him, it made her want to stay. Perhaps it was merely the strength of the gaze that pinned her, with certainty, even though she didn't dare to see it.

_"You should not be bound to him."_

She replied to the ground, _“Would that be enough to fix it?”_

_“It is worth trying.”_

The conviction of his statement unsettled her enough to look up. Yet, there was no fear there, only heavily veiled ideas as gears turned. Oh no, no this was far worse. She stood quickly, backing away. “No, don’t-” She shook her head as if to undo what she had done. “Don’t let me turn you against him. Don’t let me put you in the path of his ire.” 

_"My actions are my own. Any danger I am in I accept willingly."_

Could he really mean that? She stopped pacing, though she still considered leaving immediately. He had far too much to lose. Was this how it started? Subtle insubordination? To gather her own followers to subjugate? She was about to continue pacing the familiar paths of panic when a hand caught up the shadow of her left, threaded through. The man attached to it had stood in her preoccupation, and she couldn’t help but admire the effectiveness of the tactic. Though it did little to calm her fear, if anything it reinforced it- a fact he seemed to catch as he held out his other hand. _“If you do not believe me, I could show you.”_ It was tempting just to see, just to put her mind at ease, but her hand faltered. _"It won't hurt, Revas."_ Paralyzed with indecision and fixed on his gaze, he lifted his palm instead, _"May I?"_ She gave a slight nod, and his fingertips began their slow ascent to her cheek.

The rush she had been bracing for was instead a gentle current of confidence, certainty, that his thoughts, his mind, his motivations were his own. He drew nothing from her and it didn't hurt. She closed her eyes and sighed in relief before a different sentiment bloomed. Her eyes flew open as he drew his hand away as if burned.

His hand lingered a heartbeat too long. He knew she had felt something he let slip, though he was certain he'd been quick enough to withdraw- quick enough that she wouldn't know what it had been. He deflected her thoughts as quick as he could. _"Would you permit me to watch you write? I may be able to discern what is causing it."_

The curiosity that crossed her features unveiled was the first sign of trouble, her words, the second. _“Would you need to feel what I feel while I write?”_ He nodded against all reason, _“It would help, though if you’d rather not-”_ That she agreed with less than her normal hesitation was the third sign. He released her hand when she turned away to fetch her ink, and he silently took a deep breath as he walked back to that tree, gathering his focus. He’d given her the worst possible thing to consider, a mystery, one he hadn’t intended to show her. Though he couldn’t deny how effective it had been to bring her out of her thoughts. He settled down legs crossed, as if folding inward would help reinforce his thoughts to convey nothing as she wrote. He closed his eyes to help the monumental effort as all too soon she was crouched before him once more, and a heartbeat later she was comfortably entrenched in the space between his legs, leaning back against his chest. He stiffened perceptibly, _“Sorry, this is easiest. I need both hands to write without a flat surface and this way you don’t have to read upside-down.”_ He sighed, but couldn’t deny she had a point. He hadn’t even considered the logistical issues with such a request, having expected her to deny him. The next error of his request presented itself in where to initiate a connection. She'd thankfully been wearing the tunic he'd mended for her, yet her legs remained bare. It was entirely inappropriate, a dilemma rectified only as she swept her hair to the side, baring her right ear. That he hadn't thought of that first was the fourth sign. He took a deep breath he couldn't hide with her so close and leaned over her shoulder. _"Relax, focus on writing."_ He felt her own deep breath as she balanced the book on her thighs, quill positioned to begin where she left off.

His ear brushed hers and she began. The effort with which she fought her curiosity was admirable- if not entirely successful, and that she took this seriously helped fortify his own focus. He had several theories, and he didn't have to wait long for one to prove true. She was writing about surviving a harrowing ordeal. After facing off against the creature that defiled the temple he guarded. It had taken effort not to convey his surprise that she'd dropped a mountain on it and herself. That she survived was apparent, yet he found himself living her ordeal through her words and sentiments. The first feeling of being trapped came with being worshipped in song and with it the first unfamiliar word. He let her continue, to see if it would come up again in the same manner. It didn't take long at all. Another trapped feeling when faced with the ire of her so called advisors, and another foreign word. He broke contact and tapped her arm. _"What? Already? Where?"_ He showed her the two occurrences. _"You felt trapped when you wrote them."_ She slumped back against him, absently setting her quill in the ink pot at his side. _"Huh. Well that's a problem. I felt that way a lot."_

_"There is something I would like you to try, though it may be uncomfortable."_

She sighed, _"You want me to write about the present?"_

Her guess was close enough to be impressive. _"I would like you to write about Fen'Harel."_

_"Ugh. Uncomfortable is seriously an understatement, are you sure you wish to feel that?"_

_"Yes."_ It was an answer that was more certain than he felt, but he needed to know. She took up her quill once more, flipping through pages until she was near the end. He leaned over her shoulder once more. _"Anything specific? Or just the worst thing I can think of?"_ That she had to ask did not bode well. _"Whatever comes to mind."_ He braced himself and pressed his ear to hers once more. The shock of her sentiments was already as dark as the ink she branded the pages with. It called up uncomfortable sentiments of his own as he divided his attention on her writing and keeping his own silent. It quickly became a losing battle, his focus abandoning her words entirely. He could not read them anyways. At the first bloom of anxiety he sat back, sharply grabbing her arm away from her work. He didn't need to touch her skin to feel the disbelief she exuded.

Every single word had been in that other language.

He released her arm as she sank back against him, he took up the journal closing it and setting it aside. They sat in silence for a time, mutually disquieted, neither daring to shed light on what had just taken place.

It had long eluded him. What they meant when they just knew. The first touch of another that sparked such inexplicably deep sentiments. And his was bound to another. That she was now bound unwillingly and deeply in danger from the connection did nothing to help matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. And suddenly this is going places. 
> 
> Abelas should've whipped out his terms and conditions, like: 
> 
> "Agree to this and he will not pursue you."  
> "What? No, Abelas this is terrible- I'm not going to agree to this, I mean look at how long this privacy section is! Look it even says here you'll share my sentiments with a third party!!"  
> "What if you accept these cookies?"  
> "OMFG yes, I agree, give me the cookies!"


	10. Humility

They had returned to their silence, and she to her walls. That she had let him in so easily was a concern, and all it took was for him to refuse to meet her gaze. Was it a tactic? Had his embarrassment been engineered to draw her in? What was that fiery sentiment he conveyed? Why had it reminded her of Antiva? She had agreed to his experiment mostly out of curiosity, yet what she ended up with was far more foreboding. He stared at her even now, as she resolutely ignored the feeling of his eyes on her. He was deep in thought, though it seemed the questions he carried were not for her.

Her own questions were too loud to ignore as she stared at the passage she had written, knowing precisely what it said without being able to read it. It seemed her bond was going to kill her, well, kill what she was now. Would getting rid of the ties that chafed at the remains of her heart be enough to stop it? Or was it already too late? Would she finally become what Hawke had feared? Was she to write destruction upon the world as Anders had? Would she even know she was doing it? Or would it come as a fierce conviction that her path was the right one? Might the wolf let her go if it meant protecting her nature? He did always seem to have more respect for her after she’d joined with Freedom, the reminder woke her anger. She wondered not for the first time if that was the only reason he'd warned her away before the end. “Not a person… If I’m not a person then why bother.” She closed her journal with a snap, tossing it at her pack and missing by a wide margin. She strode to fetch it, grumbling the whole way, exchanging it with the unfinished volume of the Vir’abelasan. Perhaps it would be best to bury herself in the thoughts of others. _Apparently_ she needed to hurry. Her own story was meaningless in the face of what else could be lost.

He watched her as though the renewed distance between them had become leagues. He had been due to report to Fen'Harel nearly an hour ago and he was at a loss with what to say. Would the wolf make a move? Capture her against her will? Try to fix her as he fixed everything else- with destruction to burn away the mistakes? She would not survive the ordeal. Though, he did not relish the idea of lying to one so noted for deception. The man who held her leash would know immediately.

Her voice interrupted his musings, _“Are you going to tell him?”_

He considered her for a moment. Wondering if she had guessed his mind or if that was simply the most obvious question that hung between them. Undoubtedly he must look preoccupied. _"Should I?"_

_“I don't know him as well as I thought, I don't think my answer would be the right one. But I would tell him about some of it, I think. The less you have to lie to him, the better.”_

He nodded. _"I think that is the wisest course of action."_

A long tired sigh left her, and he was reminded once more how much she’d been through for one so young. The thought weighed on him inexplicably heavily. _“I don't know about wise, but I also don't envy your position.”_ And with that she returned to her writing. And he gathered his thoughts, composing himself for the long walk to the house.

* * *

He stepped through the eluvian, greeted with the faces of familiar agents as he walked down the long dark vaulted stone hall to Fen'Harel's chambers. A sharp knock on metal banded wood heralded his return, and a terse voice beckoned him to enter.

_"Ah, yes. I had been expecting you hours ago."_

He watched as the man stood, abandoning his reports, bestowing his full attention. _"I was delayed."_

_“I see. And? Have you made progress?”_

_“I have. Revas briefly opened up to me.”_

A soft sound of assent left the man, _“I felt her curiosity, her eagerness. I have not felt such sentiments from her in a long time. What prompted them?”_

He kept his gaze neutral, _“I gave her a conundrum. A reversal of our interactions. It piqued her interest.”_

The man gave him a questioning look, though he did not ask further, much to his inner relief. _“What did she tell you?”_

_“She told me that she has been corrupted by whatever lay in that city you destroyed.”_

The wolf's alarm was immediate, and it came with an upsurge of warning. _“We must bring her in- **Now**. That spirit is not to be underestimated.”_ He watched the wolf pace before the massive desk, musing more to himself than anyone else. _“I had thought her stronger. Yet, she made it out alive- she shouldn't have been able to do so if she had been corrupted. My wards made sure of that.”_

He wondered if the wolf’s assessment was correct, if she was not truly corrupted, or if his pride blinded him to the failure of his wards. One thing was clear, he didn’t recognize the danger his bond presented. _“No. Bringing her in would make it worse. She is not ready. She must come willingly.”_

The man rounded on him with a snarl, _“Then make her ready. Do what you must. We are running out of time!”_ He took a breath and paced back to his chair, planting his hands squarely on the desk, leaning over the weathered map that engulfed it. The wolf’s feigned disinterest was painfully obvious. _“Does she ask about… About our people?”_

_“She does not. She maintains no desire to return.”_

_“Is that all?”_

_“For now, Yes.”_

The wolf narrowed his eyes, jaw tensed, and he knew his withheld information did not go unnoticed. _“That is not good enough. Whatever it is you are keeping from me had best not interfere with her recovery. Do not let her turn you away from us. If she truly is corrupted she may try. Forget any notions you have of protecting her from me. I am tasked with her safety, not you.”_

It took great effort not to bristle at his words. He'd seen what his protection had done to her. The man had been right not to mark anyone else. If this is how he treated her, how would he treat the others? _“It is inconsequential for the moment. I will tell you if it proves necessary.”_

The wolf visibly angered but made no move against him. _" **Go**."_

And he did.

He shared a look of muted concern with the agents flanking the eluvian stationed in the small chamber at the far end of the hall. _"He is getting worse, is he not?"_ Abelas nodded, his response equally hushed- _"He is."_ It seemed Revas was not the only one at risk from their bond. The question of how to approach the wolf, how to convince him to overcome his pride was still unanswered. _“If Compassion is at the house, I will send him. If not, be vigilant.”_ The guard offered a terse nod, and he stepped back through the mirror. Relieved to have distance from the wolf once more, even if it was only an illusion. 

He paused briefly at the house to gather more supplies. Perhaps he should arrange for a nicer dinner. He chuckled quietly, if it wasn't for his cooking he doubted very much she would have lingered in his company this long. Then his gaze caught on a bottle of wine. _That_ would be ill-advised, though, he was aware it was a vice she indulged in. Compassion was nowhere to be seen and he wondered where the spirit was. It was all thanks to that spirit he'd gotten his opportunity to intercept her. Compassion often lingered here of late, caught between her and the wolf, unable to directly sway either. He revisited the wine, perhaps he could bargain with her.

* * *

She had abandoned her writing the moment she felt Fen'Harel's anger. She paced, and paced, and paced- Undecided if she should don her armor and flee, or wait it out. If she'd put Abelas in danger... She wouldn't forgive herself. Would her bondmate harm him? She didn't know the answer to that anymore. What wasn't he willing to harm? As much as she hated to admit it, the strange elf's presence was growing on her. It was... Pleasant to be reminded she wasn't the only survivor, even if he was the _worst_ conversationalist. 

The sound of hurried steps approaching halted her nervous march. She crept through the trees toward the noise, suddenly worried that the wolf had sent someone else. Too late she realized she hadn’t hidden the relief she felt to see it was only Abelas. And _worse_ , he had clearly noticed. A questioning glance met her as he strode towards her, stopping just to tower over her like some sort of offensively shiny hedge. The way the sun always caught and glinted off his armor affronted her subdued roguish sensibilities, and she was fairly certain it _never_ came off.

_“Did you think I would not return?”_

_“He was very angry, I had wondered...”_

A single wisp on an eyebrow broke free of his composure, arching in rebellion. _“You were concerned for my welfare?”_

She looked down, refusing to stare up at that decidedly smug look spreading mutinously across his face. _“I was not.”_

A gauntleted hand gently tipped her chin, golden eyes bore into her own. She stared resolutely back in challenge. A small noise of amusement left him with an infuriating smirk. _“You were.”_ He released her, striding past her to the camp, leaving her to fume at the strange man. She yelled over her shoulder, **“WAS NOT.”**

It was a terrible lie. She wandered through the trees as far as she dared, considering the thought. She _had_ been worried about him. Why? What did he matter, he was one of _them_ was he not? Yet… he also wasn't. He was familiar to the voices of the well, and he was familiar to her. Not some stranger of this new world, not some ancient woken to the Veil fallen once more- already sure in their entitlement, but an enduring relic that had passed through hers. He had lived the limited existence that had been her only reality for so long. Maybe he would understand? She grew angry at the thought, letting him in was something she couldn’t afford to entertain. She cursed him profusely.

The voices of sorrow that were normally so silent until called upon rose up in her mind. It startled her to stillness. They spoke of his guardianship, of his pain, of his namesake. Apparently they did not take kindly to her poor assessment of the man. And she stood in her chastisement long after they grew silent, unsettled by the picture they had begun to paint of him.

_"Should I apologize?"_

_"Apologize for what?"_

She whipped around to see that the shiny statue of an elf had crept up behind her. Her shock sent her several branches up the nearest tree before realizing it was still only Abelas. She stared at him, bewildered for several frantic heartbeats before choking out a small answer, _"Nothing."_

The voices spoke in tandem, setting the world at a dizzying spin, and she argued back- sure she looked more than a little crazy. _"I don't have to, it's not like that."_ He stared amused as she scrambled to the ground, gesturing wildly. _"Argh you are all impossible! You talk to him if it's that damn important!"_ She glanced up at Abelas, suddenly unsure about their request. His expression changed from light curiosity to a serious understanding. The shift was disquieting. _"Is that possible?"_

He shook his head even as the voices responded in a chorus of _No. **Ask him.**_

Her hand went to her temple rubbing at the tension growing there as the voices grew silent once more. _"They want you to show me why you are Abelas… What does that even mean?"_ His amusement vanished entirely, replaced by a look she could only describe as ominous. He hesitated before wordlessly turning back towards camp, and she followed.

He settled beneath his usual tree, drawing himself up in what looked to be an effort to center himself- but for what? She shifted awkwardly on her feet wondering what this was all about, yet the well stubbornly offered no further insight.

_“I do not think you are ready for this.”_

She countered warily, _“They seem to think I am. They seem to think it is important.”_

He looked unsettled, yet his mind appeared set nonetheless. It was beginning to make her nervous. _“Very well, come here.”_ He was unusually placid once more, the small bits of emotion she'd grown used to- carefully locked away. She cautiously settled down before him, watching as he unfastened one mailed gauntlet then the other, pulling off the supple leather gloves that lie underneath. His parting words only heightened her fear as his hands met her temples, as he leaned in to press his brow to hers. _“Forgive me Revas, this will hurt.”_ She was lost to his gaze, lost to his touch as the rush overwrote everything else.

* * *

Familiar white stone encircled her, soft light drifted in through the glass dome, laden with lazy motes. She sighed silently at the hint of a breeze, always careful to be quiet in her Lady’s presence unless called upon. She stood guard in the pristine temple of her patron, the Mother Goddess. She was at peace in her duty at the Lady’s right, and she was Humility. It was a privilege to serve one who cared so deeply for the people. She stood tall, waiting, for it was the day the Lady’s bonded would come to visit. So often the great Lady lamented that her bonded's duties and her own kept them apart, it had been several long years since they had more than stolen moments together. The Lady was ever patient, a smile on her lips, a song in her heart- a song she shared with all marked for duty in her temples. It sang of hope and it sang of prosperity.

The discordance that rose in the temple edged in on her mind, she sensed death- panic. The other sentinels were falling. A moment of confusion before the great Lady stood, as the door to her hall opened. Seven darkened figures almost unrecognizable in their corruption slunk inward to shadow the hall. The malicious hiss of their presence cut off the song in her heart as the great Lady strode forward, a plea, a command in her voice. She left her post too late, a warning dying in her throat as the daggers fell. Wicked blades of shadow, and all light winked out. Pain tore through her chest, and it carried an unbearable depth. It brought her to her knees as she curled inward against the invisible wounds, next to the dying form sprawled out before her. The darkness receded, yet the song was no more. Agony was the beat in its place and failure rapidly grew in her heart. She'd- _failed_. Failed, and there was no atonement for this. Her death was called for. The silence rent and tore, pieces of herself lost to the void. She slumped forward next to her fallen goddess and for a time knew nothing more. 

She woke to a grey existence with sorrow and a profound agony. She woke changed.

A single shrouded elf knelt at the Lady’s side, and grief spilled from him too.

Far from her, a touch pulled away and she was ripped from all she knew.

* * *

Revas doubled over clutching her chest, an unhindered cry tore from her throat, her disbelieving silence broken. Rocking back and forth as if she could shake the hurt that gripped her. A half coherent litany of failure and curses fell from her lips, and she was vaguely aware of an armored touch pulling her onward. An embrace separated her from the worst of the pain, soft words of apology met her ears. She looked up through blurry eyes to see the tear streaked face that comforted her. She wasn't Mythal's guardian, _he was_ , the pain… it was his- he…

_“Athim. You… you were Athim.”_

He nodded slowly. His jaw clenched. Fighting back the renewed grief at the use of his old name.  
Her hand moved of its own accord, to rest against the clenched muscles of his jaw, her touch pulled her onward into his grief once more as she shared it, willingly, unable to pull back, and unwilling to look away. He had leaned into her touch as he wound her close. He clung to her, and she couldn't help but let him. Her ghost of an arm winding around his back. She was completely bereft of words, but it seemed he didn’t require them. The voices of the well knew otherwise.

The song that fell from her lips, hushed in his ear, surprised them both. It was a small wavering solo, not the powerful resounding chorus… and it was tinged in notes of sorrow instead of hope but it eased their pain nonetheless. It was Mythal's song and the Vir’abelasan sang through her. 

Long after it ended she remained awkwardly placed over his lap, his arms still wound tight around her, yet it did not feel confining... It felt- like a great many things, most prominently _confusing_. She let it continue, he needed this and she did not want him to return to that depth of pain. It had been horrific on a level she hadn’t expected and now she completely understood his reluctance to show her. The mutinous voices of the well were satisfied with her new assessment of the man, he made sense, he _endured_ and she… _sympathized_. It was a wonder he was capable of any emotion at all aside from his namesake. So she lay quiet against his chest, wondering how two broken elves who lost so much managed to survive this far.

Wondering why he persisted. Wondering why she persisted.

Slowly the pain subsided, replaced by something warm. A gentle breeze of calm. Had he? Shifting slightly in his hold, his arms slackened. He was _asleep_? She stared in quiet fascination for a time, he looked so different. He looked at peace. She had rarely seen him sleep as he succumbed long after her and woke far earlier. A small smile rose into place as she refrained from poking at him in retaliation for earlier. Surely he could use the respite. She extricated herself as gently as she could. Relieved he didn't wake. The sun was just beginning to set and she gazed at the fiery glow filtering through the trees before setting off to tend their fire. She was starving. Eyeing his pack, she weighed the intrusion against her growing hunger. Surely if she trespassed he would take it as consent to retaliate in kind.

Hunger won. She carefully rifled through his things, finding the bottle of wine almost immediately. A soft chuckle left her as she rolled it back and forth in her hands... Oh she _shouldn't_... But it had been an awfully tense day. Maybe a little? She popped open the bottle taking a swig before returning to his pack. Her curiosity passed lightly over his things, focusing on what was clearly food. The ingredients he'd packed were nicer than usual... Odd. She laid them out as she tried to puzzle out what he intended, taking another swig of wine. She wished she had paid better attention when he cooked.

The fire was built up hot enough to cook, yet she still hadn't puzzled out half the ingredients. A little tipsy she started anyways. Carefully rolling cheese and herbs up in an odd sort of dough. Hoping she guessed right, and wasn't just missing the cheese bites that had once been her favorite.

He watched quietly as she worked. Noticing the bottle of wine had already been delved into. He couldn't help the small smile as she debated the different ingredients, holding them up and looking at them at different angles as if they'd voluntarily divulge their purpose. He felt oddly at peace despite what he had been tasked with reliving. A bitter memory, the effort spent calling it forth in its entirety had been exhausting. It pained him to inflict that upon her- yet she bore it with grace. She'd _comforted_ him, calling forth the song that he had long missed. He couldn't help the unwise light in his chest, that she could care about another. It was a remarkable step forward. He watched as she sniffed at a small jar of powdered soup stock. His laugh already threatening to shake loose as she tasted it. Witnessing her volatile reaction had been worth alerting her to his state of consciousness.

A soft laugh startled her. She turned with the bottle of wine clasped tightly to her chest. Abelas had woken, how long had he been watching!? It had been a while since she last looked back to make sure he was still asleep. His slight smile seemed impossible after what she had seen. Yet it persisted as he rose to join her. Taking up the ingredients she neglected.

He showed her what went where and how to cook each part. _"Ooh that's a... a... Water meal?"_ He chuckled, _"Soup?"_ Oh yes _"Soup."_ She said the word a few more times, perhaps several more than necessary- she should probably stop drinking. Her lexicon of Elvhen had been slowly getting better- yet the Vir’abelasan had never imparted the words for foods. He pulled the jug of water from his pack, _"Yes you were missing this."_ She watched as the spiced powder dissolved. "Oooooh." That explained why tasting it had been a mistake. It apparently took very little of it to make soup. She glanced aside at him, taking a defensive drink of the wine before she handed him the bottle. _"Sorry, it's been a while."_ He took it, seeming to consider a moment before draining a much larger portion than she had. She couldn't help the chuckle that left her.

And he couldn't help but notice.

They ate in a strangely comfortable silence. Questions consumed her in the wake of being occupied. She knew she should finish writing the next volume, yet her mind was too active to hope for clearing her thoughts. Asking him was the only way, but he looked... Happy? He’d been strangely unburdened since she laughed… She didn't have the heart to ruin it, not that she was entirely convinced she still had much of a heart left, but clearly something was there- infuriatingly. Though it seemed he was willing to unburden her mind, turning to her with that ever-sharp gaze of his.

_“What would you know of me?"_

_“Are you certain?"_

He nodded, _“They wished you to see it, I wish for you to understand.”_

She took a deep breath, watching his expression closely, _“You died didn't you? Twisted against your nature?”_

An equally deep sigh shifted his armor, softly clinking metal as he answered. _“Essentially yes. My failure, my grief did not allow for me to exist further as I was. When I woke I was different, grief had changed me.”_

_“Then you are, were similar to me?”_

_“You are… different. I was once a spirit, crossed over into waking, manifested a form to serve Mythal.”_ Her brows furrowed and he added, _“Willingly.”_ His gaze shifted briefly to her spectral appendage. _“You are... An anomaly. I had not thought a spirit could willingly split itself in such a manner. To plant seeds of itself in one born physical.”_

She shifted uncomfortably, _“Is that all you know?”_

_“I know that you took the spirit into yourself and that it did not change either of you, is there more than that?”_

She sighed. _“Sort of. Not many know this, but I was tasked with changing the way the veil fell, not stopping it. Before I joined with it, the spirit bade me to seek out its other parts. Others like me, to learn from them. The spirit cast its net wide hopeful to avert such destruction, yet I had been the one best suited to succeed. And still… I failed.”_ She shuddered in the growing chill of the night air, pulling her knees up to her chin. _“They are all gone now. I... Felt that too when I woke. Yet- I woke the same? Why? Why didn't I change then?”_ She met his gaze for a moment before sharply looking back to the fire, the sympathy there was too much to linger. 

_“That is a question I unfortunately do not have an answer to. It may be that grief has little bearing on freedom, or that freedom itself is familiar with the sentiment.”_

She sighed, falling back to stare up at the sky. Night-blind as she was, it took several moments for her eyes to adjust, to gaze upon her old friends winking faintly down on her. The uncaring audience to her long life of misfortune. _“I don't know about her, but I am certainly no stranger to it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments about Abelas are the best comments. 
> 
> I <3 you lovely people.


	11. She asked - PSA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly an update for the PSA but also most of the next 'not really edited' chapter because why not.
> 
> Because I legitimately don't know what to do with this, so I'm asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA in the notes at the bottom, feel free to skip to it.

The call of sea birds was absent, so was the soothing ocean breeze, yet warm stone surrounded her. How'd she get here? No, had that been a dream? She cast a hand about her, it wasn't heated stone, it was angular... Metal? She sighed curling closer to the warmth. Her hand slid over a familiar curve, a hip, a narrow waist. Her eyes flew open, a gilded armored arm wound around her, pulling her close, trapping her. She lay frozen against Abelas. Looking up full of fear only to find he was still asleep, she breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Extricating herself would not be easy. Slowly, agonizingly she slid from his grip inch by inch, keeping a careful watch on his face, listening for any change in his measured breaths. It was embarrassing enough to know she had done it, he didn't need to know of her nightly wandering as well. Their bedrolls had mysteriously been getting closer as time dragged on in her oasis. She had assumed it a tactic, and resolutely ignored it- now she wasn't so sure. She finally slipped free, thankful he wore his armor while he slept. If he hadn't, if her bare skin had met his- then there would have been no way to hide what she'd done. She scurried back the short distance to her bedroll. Waiting for the panic in her chest to calm. It was still dark, with luck she could get back to sleep and not raise any questions.

"His hurt sings the same. Lost. Feeling falling freeing. Captive yet captivating, you should let him in."

She stilled. _No_. This was the last thing she needed.

"Need, never knowing why. It hurts because it helps. He cares for you. I didn't see it before. It fits, far away yet firm in his chest. A small light lilting laughing her smile makes it worth waking another day."

She turned to hush the spirit. "Compassion no, please you'll wake him." Compassion only spoke louder, "He wants to be woken. Cries carried echoing empty. No one will answer. Dreaming dead and gone, dark deft shapes rending reeling he is- Trapped, a nightmare."

 _Oh_ , she scrambled back to where Abelas lay, roughly shaking the man, shouting his name. "Abelas- Abelas wake up!" The sentinel scowled but did not stir, _"Oh for fucks sake-"_ She reached out and touched his face barehanded. And she realized too late, she reached with the wrong hand.

Her intangible arm connected with his skin, and her eyes widened in disbelief as it sank inward swiftly pulling her consciousness with it.

 

His eyes flew open at once. And a split second later he had grabbed and rolled her, pinning her against the ground even as his conjured dagger appeared at her throat.

 

She breathed slowly, shallowly fighting against the weight on her chest. Worried any sudden movement would change their stalemate. The dagger vanished and she breathed a hindered sigh of relief. Though not truly in relief. He somehow managed persisting sleeping in his armor, the weight of it and him dug into her uncomfortably. Yet the gears in his mind seemed to have stalled. "Abelas?" At the use of his name he remembered himself, quickly freeing her, an apology on his lips as he sat up. Unsettled as she lay there, Abelas stood and wandered off into the dark towards the stream. "Will he be alright?"

"Yes."

"What did you mean by it fits? He... cares?"

She received no answer, catching a glimpse of the spirit flitting off after Abelas. She sighed, knowing Compassion was far better equipped to help the man, a deep yawn left her. Barely registering that she was still in Abelas’ bedroll, she curled up, snuggling in deeper as sleep wound its grasp in her. There was something… calming about the scent that lingered. She would have to think about that… later.

 

He sat absently by the meandering stream, the calm of it in sharp contrast to the swift turmoil of his thoughts. He had expected the nightmare, but not that she would wake him, nor that he'd attack her for it. It was-

 _"Unsettling but unharmed, unknowing she... woke me."_ A warm hand fell to his shoulder, a long sigh left him. _"Compassion."_

_"Yes."_

_"Is she... alright?"_

_"Soft, silent, stern yet safe. He smells good, why does he always smell so good?"_ Compassion tilted his head, _"Yes, she worries, wonders, yet- waking next to you didn't hurt."_

His brow furrowed as he attempted to parse the spirit's cryptic speech. _"She..."_

_"Oh no, not now- can't let him find out. Curled close, lingering longing, so much like the sun warmed stones."_

A soft breath left him... _"Oh."_

The spirit nodded ardently, _"Yes, that helps."_

He couldn't disagree, _"I... Yes, it does. What are you doing here?"_ He shook his head knowing the spirit's likely answer. _"Helping?"_

A brilliant smile lit Compassion's face. _"Helping."_

The spirit flitted about him, muttering, as he wandered back to camp. He stopped short at the sight before him. Compassion positively glowed in the dim morning light when his eyes fell upon her tucked into his bedroll, a small smile on her face. It tugged at him, it was such a small thing- yet it affected him much more than he would have thought.

_"You should brush her hair sometime, don't ask, she'll say no- just go for it and she won't stop you. Oh, and offer to spar with her, she worries she's getting rusty... Wait, that can't be right, can people rust? Armor can rust, but that comes off- but she doesn't think yours does- always armored, protector pausing when he looks my way, sorrow yet so silent. How does he do it? How does he endure?"_

He chuckled quietly as the spirit babbled excitedly on and on about the things that would ostensibly help, wondering how accurate they were. He imagined brushing her hair without permission would end with another stalemate and a dagger- only the roles switched.

"-Oh, he has to let her go. _Poisoned perilous parry the grasping claws, a small scratch sinking deeper, dangerous. It calls my name when I think of him, words wounding foreign in my mouth._ It's getting worse." Compassion held his gaze, searchingly. "He's not ready. _Fighting fears forgotten, he wakes alone longing- the tighter he grasps the further she falls. He needs to know it wasn't a mistake, destroyed, dealt the hand of death- corpses were his gift to her, it should have been a caress, compassion not a command. Weeping, welts wound his soul-_ he's... changing. I must go. He needs my help."

Abelas nodded and the spirit turned back to face him, _"And she's going to need yours."_

He stood there for a long time after the spirit left, hoping compassion wouldn't bring the wolf's wrath down upon them. If anyone grasped the gravity of the situation it was compassion. Quietly he undid the clasps of his breastplate, divesting himself of the weighted shield. Stripping down to the light leggings he wore under the metal. Piling the pieces next to her bedroll, he felt curiously light. Lighter than when he stripped down to bathe at the house. He grabbed a loose shirt from his pack, pulling it over his head before he climbed into her bedroll, wondering how embarrassed she would be at the trade. Though he hadn't anticipated what falling asleep enveloped in her scent would do to him.

This time he dreamed of her.

 

She woke slowly, wondering when compassion would pounce to helpfully-unhelpfully suggest all sorts of uncomfortable things. Yet... As seconds turned to minutes with just the sounds of cooking... _Oh cooking_. She propped herself up on her elbows blinking blearily at Abelas... He was... Curiously _startlingly_ undressed. A pair of tight woven leggings and a loose linen shirt- the sleeves rolled up past his elbows... He was _barefoot_ , no shiny metal no walls... It was strange- And, it appeared the spirit was no longer here. _"So it does come off? I was starting to think it was permanent."_

He chuckled, _"Yes it does come off."_ He glanced at her over his shoulder, _"Sleep well?"_

Her brows scrunched at his goading tone, wondering... "Oh, shit." She looked down at the bedroll she was in, then over to hers, then back to Abelas. She was expecting smugness- yet, nothing even close made its home in his eyes. She felt, vulnerable... As if his choice to drop his walls had leveled hers as well. His eyes lingered a moment on her growing blush before he mercifully turned back towards breakfast. She quietly climbed out of his blanket, not even sure why it mattered to her so much. They were both technically his-

She edged around to her pack, pulling out her last pair of leggings as well as dragging half the contents of the bag with them. She cursed quietly, drawing attention to herself was the last thing she wanted at the moment as she hastily pulled them on. If he was going to be dressed like that... Then she might as well wear pants.

She shoved her things haphazardly back into their heap in her bag. Tentatively looking up to see Abelas watching her curiously. _"What?"_

_"Nothing."_

She scowled at his back as he turned around, pulling a face.

_"What did compassion want?"_

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice, _"To help."_

She palmed her face, the two of them were going to be the end of her. _"And did he? What did he say...?"_

_"He did. And yes, the armor does come off."_

He glanced back at her again as she stood mortified... They had pulled that idea from _her_ thoughts. If the spirit had told him that, then what else?

 

They ate in a peaceful silence. And it was strange. Without his armor... They could be just two elves, no duties, no orders, no empire. Just two people sharing a meal, it was... Something she had sorely missed.

She couldn't help but glance at him every few moments. He was... Different. Lighter somehow.

 

Afterwards she goes to bathe and wash her clothes in the water. Abelas sits on the bank, laying back, staring up at the sky. _"You know there is a spell for that."_ She bristled realizing he was there, sinking back into the water. How much had he seen?! _"You could have mentioned that before!"_

A soft chuckle, _"My apologies, I could have yes, but I did not think you would be interested."_

_"Well I am.... Interested. In the spell."_

He sat up, peeling his sweat dampened shirt off. He strode into the water, turning into a graceful dive before she could protest. Thankful he'd at least kept his pants on. He surfaced a few feet away, her eyes widened as he swam towards her, standing up as he touched bottom.

Water cascaded down the curves of his muscles, cutting grooves that drew her eye. She sank lower as he held out his hand, trying to drown her blush. After his gaze became unbearable she offered up her breastband and smalls, and he took them- careful not to touch her bare skin.

He waded to the small island of rock, leaning against it as he explained the spell, and then demonstrated it. It looked simple but she hadn't taken in a thing he said. Water dripping off him, glistening in the sun... She realized she was blatantly staring, and he was looking far too amused for someone who was supposedly teaching her laundry spells. Much less on her underwear. She grumbled, "Bastard."

_"Hmm?"_

_"Nothing._ "

Ugh that insufferable smirk.

He tossed her smalls, and she hastily pulled them on as he repeated the spell for her breastband before striding back to her. Folding it before offering it up. She took it without meeting his gaze, murmuring just above the surface, _"Thank you."_

_"You are welcome Revas."_

And with that he waded to the bank to lay out in the sun. She watched for a few moments before turning around, winding the damp cloth about her chest to cover herself enough to head back to shore.

Abelas was unbraiding the intricate weave that kept his hair bound. It drew her attention as she lay in the sun, drying off. It didn't escape his notice, and she was beginning to think nothing did. _"I could bind your hair in such a manner, if that interests you."_ She couldn't help the smirk at the thought of Abelas braiding her hair... As if they were kin. As if they were da'len in their aravel passing time with games instead of sleeping... Her smile grew sad, her lips weighted at the corners with the memory, _oh_ she hadn't thought of that in years, not even with the Inquisition... It had been bitter memory then... But now, now it was _gone_. Would their da'len still be close knit? Or would the new rules of the empire dictate some new stupid way of things? Her answer surprised the sentinel.

_"I... would like that."_

His gaze softened, and she was thankful he bade her to turn around, settling down behind her. She almost looked back to him but he gently placed a hand on her head to keep her still, before taking up a section close to her scalp. She buried her face in her hands, oh creators he was brushing her hair. If only Josephine could see...

This.

_Oh._

She couldn't help the sob, or the others that quickly followed. He paused his effort.

_"I'm sorry, it's..."_

_"Shhhh. It is ok Revas. Would you like me to stop?"_

Her reply was half drowned in a miserable sob, _"No-o."_

He continued, carefully.

It was cathartic.

 

He watched her quietly as she played with her braid. He'd given her a style he'd not seen in an age. An intricate braid up over her right ear, delicate branches twining together at her neck. It was fitting, that she alone would wear it. Alternating between small smiles and a grief that turned her lips down, the slight twitch in her jaw that held back the flood. He admired her resolve and he longed to steady her, but she seemed to not wish intrusion. So he re-braided his own hair while he watched. Wondering just how much of this Compassion had guessed.

She finally succumbed to her grief and he couldn't stay put, remembering what she had done for him. That she didn't fight his effort was telling. He swept her up, embracing the rush of her sorrow as he carried her past the treeline, to the shallow crest of a hill, he settled down in the full sun, holding her through the quiet shudders that rocked her. He made himself a wellspring of calm for her. They sat quietly as the sun slowly burned away her grief, and he felt the memory of white stones heated well after dark, it drew his focus as she showed him- willingly, the memory of the deserted city she so cherished. A smile rose on his face even as the sun declined, his eyes closed to all but what she offered, until he felt her gratitude. She was gazing up at him, her wide eyes shone fire in the sunset. _"Thank you Abelas."_

_"You are always welcome Revas."_

_"Will you tell me..."_ She sighed, _"Will you tell me what life is like in Elvhenan?"_

It seemed she was fated to be a constant surprise to him. He'd not thought she would ever willingly ask about their people. So he told her, answered all of her sudden wealth of questions. It was a promising step forward.

 

He didn't judge her, nor did he release her as she sat propped against him, his hold lose through his explanations.

The wall of metal was obvious in its absence. He was startlingly warm, heat radiating through the thin shirt he wore.

She was surprised to learn not much had changed. There was order that came inevitably to those who need not wander, but it was not imposed. They taught the history of events fairly close to how she knew them. They learned of her world, remembered the losses, the other cultures. They learned of _HER_. It was startling to say the least- she knew they knew _of_ her... But that they looked to her return as a portent? A thing to be celebrated once it happened... She ...hadn't realized.

_"How do they not hate me Abelas? They thought I worked against them."_

_"They were told the truth, you fought to save what you could- so that more may not be lost. They know you hurt, lost to them because you failed. Because you lost everything. Your return would be a piece of their history, there is much you could teach them. Even more so that few leave the empire- the wild spaces are all but unknown to them now."_

_"Are they happy? Do they mourn the past?"_

He smiled as he bent down to whisper against her ear. _"They are not so lost. They live for each other, share in their burden of loss. It makes them stronger."_

She grew quiet at the admission, at his familiarity.

 

Was that what he was to her? What she was to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Ok not gonna lie or sugarcoat it. This is mostly because I recently discovered a brilliant fic- and I'm probably overreacting- but damn do I feel like a dirty nerf herder. Basically _this_ fic is uncomfortably close to the one I read, that one came first, and that one is _way_ better. 
> 
> So here I sit, feeling like I've somehow ripped off a brilliant work. I don't know how to write more for this without thinking about that one. Do I deviate from where I was going just for the sake of deviation? Do I keep going regardless? I've been trying not to read too many end game fics for this exact reason. I'm not that brilliant of a person and I am super late to this fandom creatively speaking. Pretty much the first 20 ideas I have are already done, and done, and done with a twist. (Which is why I've been writing weird kinks and odd pairings.)
> 
> Not many of you read this, but even so I wouldn't just up and delete this, or permanently shelve it without a word. 
> 
> I don't know what my options are. I feel sick just thinking about this, and that's probably stupid. But I do. 
> 
> If I kept going, this would need serious editing, to the point I'd likely delete it and reupload it- because you can't unkudo... and then it would feel like a bait and switch. So, if you like this _that_ much- save it, download it or w/e soon. Because I don't know what'll happen with this or when.
> 
> That said, if you have any ideas I'm all ears. I've never encountered this before.  
> Sorry, this probably isn't the update you were looking for.
> 
> If I was a spirit, I would be embarrassment, and I am dying of it.


End file.
